


A Dwarven Advent Calendar

by PericulaLudus



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Advent Calendar, Baby Durins, Baby Dwarves, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Christmas, Dunland, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Traditions, Erebor, Family Fluff, Gen, Iron Hills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PericulaLudus/pseuds/PericulaLudus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuletide is a very special time of the year. As the nights grow ever longer, the Dwarves prepare their celebrations for the Feast of Light. This advent calendar consists of a new little ficlet posted every morning (GMT) from the 1st of December up to Christmas. Each chapter can be read on its own, but together they form an account of Yule throughout the lives of the Durin family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Yule Pyramid

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 1st of December, everyone!  
> As my little Christmas present to the Hobbit fandom, I'm writing an advent calendar of short ficlets (the aim is to keep them under 1000 words) that chronicle this special time of the year throughout the lives of our dear Dwarves. I will be posting a new story every morning GMT (which should mean it is posted on the correct day in most time zones) with the last one going online on Christmas Eve. Many of the customs described here are German or Nordic in origin. Head over to my tumblr where I'll be posting corresponding pictures for most things and of course feel free to ask if anything is unclear.  
> I hope you enjoy the advent calendar and it adds a little to the festive spirit that can be so elusive in our busy lives.

“Do you like it?” Eydís asked, crouching down between her sons.

“It’s so big,” Thorin whispered. It felt like you should whisper when you saw something so beautiful. Frerin just stared, his mouth hanging open and his eyes as big as gold coins.

Thorin craned his neck and looked up, up, up to where he knew the ceiling of the great entrance hall was, so many stories above. He couldn’t see it, could only make out the flickering flames of the large oil lamps and up there, beyond circle upon circle of lamps, there were the great blades of the rotor, slowly turning and making the figures below them hurry along on their endless journey.

“Do you want to have a closer look?” Thráin asked and Thorin nodded eagerly. Frerin beamed up at him at first and took a step forward, but then hesitated looking at the life-size wooden figures in front of him. He reached out a hand, Thorin grabbed it, and with his elder brother’s support the youngest son of Durin was more than ready to go exploring. They walked towards the great Yule pyramid together, Eydís and Thráin a few steps behind their young sons. Thorin took care not to lead his brother too close to the fire, knowing that Frerin could never resist the brightness of the flames.

Each one of the wooden figures wore different clothes and carried different tools according to their position. There were pickaxes, shovels and hammers. One of the figures was even leading a skewbald pit pony.

“Look at the others as well,” Eydís encouraged them.

Thorin looked up to the second round platform that was slightly smaller than the first and turning a little above their heads. More figurines were marching around in circles, but they were tradespeople, stonemasons and carpenters, weavers and seamstresses, and even a toymaker.

“Everyone is represented on the Yule pyramid,” his mother explained. “Because we are all working together to make Erebor beautiful.”

“And on the top is Mahal with his almighty hammer because all that we do is for the praise and glory of the Maker,” his father added.

“Why do we only put it up for Yule?” Thorin asked. “It’s so beautiful!”

“Because Yule is the time of the year when it’s darkest,” Thráin said, pointing at the light shafts that were now nothing but dark caverns. “And we can all use a reminder of the warmth and the light. So we celebrate the Feast of Light every year and the pyramid is one way to show our appreciation for all that we love.”

They stood together as a family, watching the wooden miners on their journey for a few minutes.

“It’s not really a pyramid though,” Thorin observed, scrunching up his nose. “The base is a circle, so it’s a cone.”

“Oh look who paid attention in geometry lessons! Quite right, dashat, if you consider the turning plates, it should be called a Yule cone, but have a look at the lights. How many do you see on this level?”

Thorin had to run around the whole thing to actually be able to count them, so he was slightly out of breath when he answered.

“Eight, amad, there’s eight lights!”

“So if you connect the lights as the outer points of the base, what shape does that make it?”

Thorin thought about it for a moment.

“That’s an octel... octi...”

“An octagon,” his mother corrected gently. “So that would make it an octagonal pyramid.”

“And do you know how it works?” Thráin asked, looking at his sons with pride. “What makes it turn?”

“It’s magic!” Frerin blurted out, still mesmerised by the endless procession of the wooden miners.

Eydís smiled and Thráin chuckled, but Thorin rolled his eyes.

“We’re not Elves, Fips, we do mechanics, not magic.”

“Can you explain the mechanics?” his father prompted.

Thorin bit his lip for a moment, thinking hard.

“So all the fire... that makes the air hot, like how it’s always hot in the forges. And then the hot air goes up and it wants to keep going up, but then there are the rotor blades and the air tries to push them out of the way so it can go up and when the blades are being pushed they move the axle in the middle and then the axle moves all the platforms attached to it and then it looks like the miners walk in a circle.”

He had to take a deep breath after that speech.

Thráin ruffled his hair fondly.

“Very good, Thorin. You’re just as smart as your amad!”

“I want to be like amad!” Frerin cried, his lower lip quivering.

Thráin laughed and swooped him up into his arms.

“You are just as beautiful as your amad, Frerin,” he said, gently touching foreheads with his youngest son.

Standing there between his parents, looking upon the beautiful Yule pyramid, Thorin couldn’t wait for the Feast of Light to come so they could celebrate with all the people in Erebor.


	2. Two Miners and a Princess

“Careful!” Frerin shouted, almost startling Thorin into dropping the box. “Don’t hurt the miners!”

“I won’t,” Thorin reassured him. “But you need to stop shouting, you’re going to scare them.”

His younger brother snapped his mouth shut and covered it with both hands, really making sure he didn’t make a sound. Their mother looked at him fondly, but did not release her grip on the ladder on which Thorin was currently balanced. He handed her the light wooden box and carefully made his way down the rungs, always keeping three points of contact like he had learned down in the mines. Safety was essential his cousin Farin had told him, and Farin would know because he was the Master of the Mountain and responsible for the well-being of all the miners. The real miners, that was, not the ones in the box, Farin wasn’t responsible for those.

Eydís had set the box onto the table and her sons climbed onto chairs while she lifted her youngest child from her crib in the corner of the room.

“You can open the lid,” she told them while the baby cooed in her arms and grabbed the silver clasps that adorned her intricately braided beard.

After Thorin had undone the small hook that kept it closed, the two boys each took hold of one corner of the lid and gently lifted it to reveal a mass of coarse sawdust. Frerin nearly crawled onto the table in anticipation and Thorin’s eyes were shining.

Settling the baby onto her hip, Eydís reached into the sawdust and slowly withdrew a foot-long wooden figurine. It was depicted wearing the parade uniform of the royal miners, white trousers with black knee-patches and a black coat embellished with golden buttons and tassels, complete with a green hood that protected its head and neck, the crossed axe and hammer of the Ereborean mines emblazoned on the front. In its outstretched right hand it bore a long-stemmed pickaxe and in its left was a small golden bowl.

Thorin touched the little miner gently as she set him down onto the table, tracing his wooden limbs and testing the sharpness of his tool. Frerin was excitedly bouncing up and down in his seat.

“My miner, amad,” he cried. “Wake my miner up too!”

She reached into the chest full of sawdust again and withdrew a second figure, keeping a firm hold of it as Frerin launched forwards to hug it.

“Careful, Fips,” his brother admonished amidst his squeals of glee. “You don’t want to break his arms.”

“I’d never hurt my miner,” Frerin grumbled as his chubby fingers explored every inch of the figure. It was almost identical to Thorin’s, but instead of a pickaxe it bore a basket of shiny ore.

Eydís set her daughter down onto the lap of her oldest son, who immediately encircled her small body with his arms and pressed a gentle kiss onto her soft curls. Eydís withdrew some small candles from her pocket and lit one on the flame of the closest lamp. Patiently, she waited for the wax to turn into liquid and let a small drop of it fall into each of the miners’ bowls. She quickly pressed the ends of two candles onto the hot wax so each of the figures now bore his own light.

“It’s so pretty,” Frerin exclaimed, clapping his hands.

“It’s more than just pretty,” his mother explained. “For the miners who work so hard and so far underground, the light is more than just illumination. For them it’s a sign of life and that’s why we hold it sacred.”

She placed the brightly lit wooden figures into the window that faced the great square.

“Now everybody can see how many children light up this house,” she said, fondly mussing her sons’ hair.

“But amad,” Frerin said. “We forgot Dís!”

“Oh no,” his mother answered, picking her daughter up again and kissing her forehead. “We could never forget our sweet little Díssy. Why don’t you see if you can find something else in that box!”

And indeed, the boys found a third figure amidst the sawdust, not a miner this time, but a princess, clothed in a white and blue dress with golden details, bearing a delicate golden crown upon her raven locks. In her hands she soon bore not one, but two candles, for a girl child is as rare and precious as mithril among the folk of Durin. But woe to all who underestimated the slender princess for on her back she carried two crossed battle-axes.

They placed the figure on the windowsill between the two miners, and now every passer-by could truly find all the most precious treasures of the house represented in the small, flickering lights in the darkness of the winter’s night.

Amidst her children, Eydís’ clear, strong voice rose to fill the room with an old Yuletide song.

_My love, my dear, my darling thou;_

_My joy, my fine young treasure thou;_

_My splendid little child art thou;_

_And blessed am I to tend thee now._

For the slow, lilting chorus, the high voices of her sons joined her while her small daughter happily cooed in her arms.

_May Mahal guide you;_

_May Mahal guide you;_

_May Mahal guide you;_

_Let Him be your light._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Placing intricately carved figures of miners and angels into the window of the house to indicate how many sons and daughters a family has is actually a tradition from the German Erzgebirge (Ore Mountains).


	3. An Apple to Share

It was cold, it was so cold, it was always cold now. It was too cold, especially for Dís. She was so young, way too young to be out of the mountain in this cold. He had given her his furs, but they were too heavy and made her stumble, so he had wrapped her into his thick woollen scarf. He should have taken more clothes, should have worn something warmer when they went out to hunt. He should have taken blankets, blankets and some proper boots for his sister. Her soft leather shoes were already soaked through by the time he had found her on Ravenhill among a group of children from the nursery who had somehow, miraculously made their way there almost unscathed amidst all the fire and destruction. He carried her as much as he could, others did as well, but there were others, younger children and injured Dwarves, who needed the help more urgently, so Dís had to walk as far as her short legs would carry her; always walking, endlessly walking with her poor little toes wet and frozen. Dís was supposed to be a princess, not this sniffling, shivering child in his arms. She had nothing, she wasn’t even dressed for the outside, and she certainly wasn’t dressed for leagues upon leagues of walking through the snow, wasn’t dressed for nights like this when they sat huddled together against a rock, desperate for whatever small shelter it provided.

“It’s Yule,” Frerin whispered, interrupting Thorin’s trail of thought.

“Yule!” Dís exclaimed and wriggled up from where she had squeezed herself in between her brothers until her head peeked up over the collar of Thorin’s heavy cloak, which he had drawn across the three of them.

“Yule, Yule, blessed Yule, let Mahal our Maker rule,” she recited a popular children’s rhyme.

Thorin’s arms tightened around his siblings as he silently prayed for Mahal’s blessing. Maybe next Yule they would be back in Erebor with its great warm hearths. They just needed to make it to the Iron Hills first so cousin Náin could help them, that’s what Adad had said. Everybody knew that Thrór, son of Dáin, was a great king and that they had to trust him now to lead them to safety. Adad had said that too. That’s what he was doing now, helping to lead them to safety. But Thorin was a son of Durin too, and he could help as well. He was to lead his siblings, Adad had said, he was to take care of them and make sure they were safe. And Thorin obeyed his father. He knew he had to be good, because his father was busy and there was nobody else now. Adad had not said that, but Thorin had seen it in his tear-filled eyes and even more so, he had known it in his heart.

“I’ve got something for you,” he whispered. “Something for Yule.”

They looked up at him with shining eyes and for a moment he was afraid it would not be enough when he withdrew his hand from his pocket and showed them their present — a shiny red apple, now slightly dented from the journey. He had taken it as a snack on that fateful hunting trip all those days ago, but to his siblings it was a miracle. Frerin gasped and Dís pressed a wet kiss onto his cheek, and most importantly, they both smiled. That hadn’t happen since the day they left Erebor.

He cut the apple into pieces, carefully picking out the seeds without wasting any of the juicy fruit. He cut it into slivers so thin they could almost pass for the blade of a knife, giving one to Dís and the next to Frerin very slowly so they could savour the taste for as long as possible. They had eaten nothing but watery gruel in all this time, so the flavour alone was a special treat.

Frerin wolfed his bits down, eagerly waiting for the next piece for as long as the apple lasted. Dís took a more leisurely approach, nibbling on the sweet fruit and then sucking on the peel until it all but dissolved in her mouth. Once he had stored his knife safely in his belt again, Thorin smiled at them fondly and hugged them tightly. Maybe Mahal had blessed his Yule after all.

As his siblings snuggled against him, Thorin for once felt some warmth. He began to hum more than sing an old Yule song.

_My love, my dear, my darling thou;_

_My joy, my fine young treasure thou;_

_My splendid little child art thou;_

_And blessed am I to tend thee now._

When he reached the chorus, his brother and sister joined it and together their voices grew stronger and more assured. They sang it again and again as they trudged through the snow, heading eastwards day after day. They sang it softly in the night when the wolves howled in the distance, and they sang it louder during the day when Thorin carried Dís on his back and Frerin plodded along next to him. It was no marching song, but the pace suited the slow progress of their caravan of weary refugees.

_May Mahal guide you;_

_May Mahal guide you;_

_May Mahal guide you;_

_Let Him be your light._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is the Gaelic “Taladh Chriosda” (The Christ Child’s Lullaby), which you can find on Youtube (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuzQmy-muUE), though I have taken liberties with the translation to fit it into the context.


	4. On the Bristles of the Boar

They were not back in Erebor the following Yule, but at least it was warm. It was warm, and there was food, and it was safe, or so Thorin kept telling himself. It wasn’t Erebor, but maybe that was good. The Iron Hills were simpler, but after their desperate life on the road, simplicity was something Thorin craved. He had even started his lessons again. It was good to have somewhere to go to every morning. In the afternoons, he practiced his skills with sword, axe and bow. He had not always been the most attentive of pages, but he threw himself at his education with a renewed vigour now. He had to learn, and quickly, if he wanted to be of any use in the future. His grandfather had told him as much.

Yule was a day for celebration though, and Thorin had also spent an hour on the shooting range this morning, before he had to join in the festivities. He guessed he should be celebrating. They were alive. His grandfather, his father, his brother, and his sister were still alive. That was more than could be said for many families. They had to lead, especially in such times. They had to set an example for their people. Thorin was setting an example today, and he was determined to make it a good one. He had been good for all the celebrations so far. Now all that was left was the warriors’ banquet.

They sat at the head table in the large mead hall, Grór and Thrór in the middle, flanked by their sons Náin and Thráin. Náin’s wife and young son were sitting on one end of the table, while Thorin occupied the other alone. His father had explained to him that it was all about showing strength and unity, the people needed to be reassured that the line of Durin remained strong and unbroken. Since Dáin, who was only five, did not make for a very impressive heir just yet, Thorin knew it was his sole responsibility to represent the youngest generation. He was strong and he was unbroken, or he could be for their people. There were tables upon tables of them, both those from Erebor and their brethren from the Iron Hills. The hall itself was simple, large, certainly, but with no finesse in its architecture and almost devoid of decorations.

Thorin had never been to the warriors’ banquet before, but his father had explained that there would be lots of drinking, so he clutched his mug of ginger beer fiercely. Everybody else was drinking mead, of course.

They drank.

_To the Maker, may he shield and guide us._

_To the light, may it return with every new morning, with every new year._

_To brotherhood between our realms, may it outlast the very rock._

_To peace and prosperity, may it be regained._

_To the fallen, may their souls rest with Mahal._

They drank to this and that and mugs were being refilled constantly. Then came the solemn vows, as was tradition at Yule. A procession of cooks brought in the boar. Thorin had only barely gotten out of going on the hunt with the others. He did not want to hunt, did not want to leave the mountain to hunt only to return to see it burn. His grandfather had looked at him in disdain, but in the end his father had allowed him to stay behind with his siblings. They had shot a suitable boar without his aid. It was a magnificent boar’s head on a silver platter that the cooks carried, but Thorin’s eyes were focussed on the bright red apple that had been forced into its mouth. An apple for Yule. To him it was more than mere decoration.

“They hurt the piggy!” a high voice interrupted the silence of the solemn procession. Thorin glanced over at his cousin Dáin who was being shushed by his mother. Several people laughed and Thorin saw Náin grin. Then his eyes fell upon his grandfather and he saw only disgust on his features. Thorin flinched. Thrór did not suffer fools lightly, not even when they were barely out of their nappies.

The solemn vows began. A warrior would get up, place his foot upon a stone, his hand above the Yule boar and announce his pledge. What was sworn on the bristles of the boar carried special significance, as they were particularly close to Mahal at this the longest night of the year. Many vowed special achievements in their craft, but even more swore to commit great deeds in battle. Grór and Náin had vowed their support and assistance to their brethren from Erebor, but Thorin saw his grandfather bristle and realised that neither had included any promises of military assistance.

Thrór was next.

"I mount on the block and solemnly swear on the bristles of the boar to reclaim Erebor and to slay all those who oppose us,” he said, his voice loud in the sudden hush that had fallen in the room. “If I should stumble, may Mahal smite me and all who are with me, but in our success we glorify the Maker for the strength and skill he has given us to reclaim what is rightfully ours and rule over these lands until the very mountains crumble around us. I command this oath and my fate to Mahal!”

He drained his mead in one great gulp and returned to his seat looking satisfied. There was silence for a few heartbeats, but then murmurs arose, whether of assent or dissent, Thorin could not discern.

Thráin followed. His steps were more measured as he approached the boar, his voice quieter, but no less urgent.

"I mount on the block and solemnly swear on the bristles of the boar to serve my people in these times of despair and to lead them back to peace and prosperity once more,” he said, and Thorin had a feeling that people were eyeing him warily. “If I should fail, may Mahal punish me for my wrongdoings, but if I should succeed, my debt will be to him for his guidance and foresight. I command this oath and my fate to Mahal!”

They all drank to that and more people voiced their approval this time. Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. This was the end of the official part, now they would just have a dinner and then this exhausting Yule day would be over. He was not the only one shifting in his seat and anxiously looking at his plate.

Then Thrór stood and raised his hand.

“Halt!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the din of the hall like a thunderbolt. “My grandson, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, has not yet spoken his solemn vow.”

Thorin froze in his seat. He couldn’t. He had no idea what to say. He couldn’t stand up in front of all of these people. He couldn’t. He vaguely recognised his father and Grór whispering something to his grandfather, saw him cut them off with a wave of his hand.

“Thorin,” Thrór said imperiously. “Get the lad some proper mead!” he called out to the serving boys.

He had no idea how he had gotten there, but somehow Thorin was stood up in front of the crowd, his foot on the stone, a mug of mead in his left, his right hand hovering over the boar’s head. The apple in its mouth was so bright and red, it looked so juicy and sweet.

“My grandson!” Thrór’s voice cut through the silence once more. “Speak, lad, say your solemn vow.”

Thorin was shaking. Dís would love that apple. She liked sweet things. She had really liked that apple a year ago. And Frerin. Frerin would gobble it all up and look at him with shining eyes. It was a very nice apple.

His grandfather encouraged him once more and Thorin could hear the deadly impatience in his voice. Be an example. Show strength. Strong and unbroken. He was strong and unbroken.

"I mount on the block and solemnly swear on the bristles of the boar,” he recited the familiar formula. Then he paused. He cleared his throat. “On the bristles of the boar... I... I solemnly swear...” His voice trailed off. Strong and unbroken, he reminded himself. Show strength. “I solemnly swear to lead our people... to lead them... home again. To give them a home. And happiness. I want everyone to be happy.” He blushed and furiously gnawed his lower lip.

“The outcome,” his father prompted. “If I should fail...”

“If I should fail,” Thorin echoed, but had no idea how to go on. “If I should fail then that would be really sad.” He was sweating.

“If I succeed...” his father said softly.

“If I succeed,” Thorin repeated. “Then that’s really good and we can all be happy and Mahal can be happy as well,” he said all in one breath. “I command this oath and my fate to Mahal!”

They applauded him and Thorin blushed furiously. He just wanted to leave. He just wanted to crawl into his bed. He just wanted to go home.

“We drink to that,” his grandfather roared.

It was Thorin’s first taste of mead. He would always remember it. The honey coating his tongue, and the strange mixture of sweetness and bitterness. It made him want to vomit.


	5. Sunshine and Satsumas

 “Oh stop it,” Dwalin groused in answer to Frerin’s teasing.

“Dwalin wants to kiiiiss Rúna,” Frerin continued. “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiiiiiiiss!”

Dwalin grabbed one of the brightly coloured fruits the Dunlendings called satsumas and threw it at his friend. Frerin caught it out of the air with a laugh and shot it back at the younger boy without a moment’s pause. Dwalin only caught it after it had hit him square on the nose. The other young Dwarves around the table were in stitches of laughter, but Dwalin calmly peeled the fruit and started to eat it. Dís stopped laughing and sidled up to him on the bench.

“Oooh, can I have a piece?” she asked, blinking up at him with her big blue eyes. Thorin snorted. Like anybody could resist those eyes. Dwalin ended up feeding her more than half of the juicy fruit.

“You ready?” Thorin asked Balin quietly.

“Ready when you are,” his friend confirmed.

“Listen up kids,” Thorin said in a raised voice to make himself heard over the bickering of the three younger ones. At age 42 and a couple years into his apprenticeship as a weapon’s smith, he felt infinitely more mature than them. “Time for your Yule surprises!”

Dís, Frerin and Dwalin looked up with shining eyes. Dís was bouncing up and down in her seat, and Frerin looked like he was only barely restraining himself from doing likewise.

“Frerin, put out the lights, please, and Dís, bring me a candle, if you would please,” Balin instructed.

As the two scrambled to obey him, Balin withdrew a delicate paper construction from his satchel. Paper was rare and precious, and Thorin knew that his friend had started to collect scrap paper about half a year ago, convincing the master scribe to let his apprentice take home every bit of it for what he claimed was lettering practice.

With the lights extinguished, they sat in the semi-darkness, the only source of light the fireplace at the far end of the room where their fathers shared a quiet pipe.

“What is it?” Frerin asked, trying to sneak a look at what Balin had brought, and now he was indeed bouncing up and down. Dís had scrambled up onto her knees, placing her elbows on the table. Dwalin just stared at his brother adoringly.

Balin didn’t answer, but slowly lit the single candle before unfolding the paper structure. It was intricately folded and beautiful to look at. Balin lifted it and placed it around the candle. There was an audible gasp all around the table.

“That’s so pretty!” Dís cried, clapping her hands.

“Perfect,” Frerin gasped.

“You made that?” Dwalin asked looking at his brother like he had hung the moon and stars. Which technically he had, Thorin thought as he looked around them. There were small gaps in the paper, letting through the light and projecting dozens of shining little stars onto the walls and the ceiling.

Balin smiled and if the light hadn’t been so dim, they probably would have seen him blush at the praise. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a bit of paper.”

“And some real talent,” Thorin added, clapping him on the back. “You have outdone yourself, Balin.”

It wasn’t like Yule in Erebor. It was nothing like the marvels they had displayed there. But it was warm and friendly and peaceful, and the younger ones just accepted it as it was. This was their Yule now.

“What did you make, Thorin?” Frerin asked eagerly.

“Run and get me a second candle, would you?” Thorin prompted and his sister darted off again.

With the candle lit, Thorin took his own craft project from his bag. It was made of metal, obviously.

“It’s a teeter totter,” Frerin cried.

Thorin placed the candle onto the fulcrum. There was a delicate metal arch over it and attached to it on a thin rod was a small sphere.

“Oh look, there are little dwarrow on the lever,” Dís observed. She actually squealed in delight when the metal ball shifted its position from one side of the toy to the other and the small figures Thorin had so carefully crafted started their little game of teetering and tottering.

“How does that work?” Frerin asked.

“See if you can find out,” Thorin encouraged. The three younger ones bent over the small toy to observe.

“There’s a little spring here,” Dwalin pointed out, just as the ball swung around again.

“Very good,” praised Balin, who Thorin was sure had understood the concept as soon as he had seen it move. “But what does it do?”

“It has to be something with the light,” Dís said, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.

They kept guessing for a good long while, fascinated by the mechanics behind the small moving toy, but not getting any closer to the solution. Finally, Thorin took pity in them and explained it.

“The spring is made of bimetal, two thin layers of different metals joined together. The have different properties; one expands a lot more in the heat then the other, thus making the spring stretch, moving the ball, and the weight of it shifts the lever, so it looks like the figures are playing on the teeter totter.”

“Ooh, it’s magic,” Frerin crowed.

“Just really good smithing,” Dwalin corrected and turned his admiring glance at Thorin.

“You’re so smart,” Dís said, cuddling against Thorin’s side.

As they all watched the beauty of the two Christmas surprises, Thorin felt content. They weren’t home, but at least they were a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The toy Thorin built is a "Lichtwippe"


	6. Apples in the Dark

They sat in a dark cave and for once there was blessed silence. Caves were not safe any more, but there was no safety on the outside either, not when the nights were so long and the darkness was always around them. Orcs did not relish the sun, so in the summer months they sometimes found refuge outside, were able to sleep comfortably on a mountain meadow at noon. Not now, not in the midst of winter. Now everywhere was a death trap. Orcs were everywhere, all the time, and they were fighting, fighting, always fighting, fighting them off, but mostly just fighting to stay alive. It had been six years since Thrór’s death, three since the Sack of Gundabad. He had been young then, but now Thorin felt ancient as the mountains themselves.

It was a rare night —was it night? he could never be sure — that Thorin got to spend with his friends. His father’s strength was being tested every day and Thorin, more often than not, found himself as the central support column for the formerly great hall of the House of the Longbeards. But for once, nobody required his council, nobody needed his aid, or at least not too desperately. They all needed aid, every single one of them, and Thorin struggled to provide even the most basic measure of it. But tonight he was here, huddled in a small alcove off the main cave in which their army was resting. They were well-guarded, Thorin had just made his rounds and talked to the men who were taking the first watch. Everything was quiet, a rare treasure as they raced up and down the mountainous spine of Middle Earth, as deadly as a coal dust explosion, leaving slain Orcs and fallen Dwarves in their wake.

Frerin sat on his left with Dwalin on his right and Balin on the far end of their little corner. They did not speak, each following his own thoughts, but drawing comfort from the presence of the others nonetheless. Thorin noticed Dwalin shifting next to him, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“You all right?” he asked quietly and immediately the other two lifted their heads.

“’m fine,” Dwalin answered, but there was a distinct catch in his throat.

“Busy day with Gróin?” Thorin asked, scooting a bit closer to him, until their shoulders touched.

“Mhm.”

Dwalin curled his long limbs into an even tighter knot, leaning his forehead onto his knees, making himself as small as possible, which was really quite a feat. He had grown so much in the two years that Thorin and Balin had been away with the troops and now towered above his brother.

Balin put his hand on Dwalin’s back and rubbed gentle circles. Thorin was glad of it. He had no talent with loving touches and gestures. Dwalin’s shuddering breaths slowed down a little.

“Dwalin...” Balin said. “You can always tell us, you know that, right?”

Dwalin made no answer, but his thin body remained tight as a bowstring. He reminded Thorin of metal that had been stretched too far and was turning brittle. For a few minutes they sat in silence, then Thorin felt his younger friend square his shoulders.

“We ran out of poppy,” Dwalin said without lifting his head and his voice was that of a child, showing no signs of the deeper timbre it was currently gaining. He took a deep breath before continuing. “They scream something awful and I cannot calm them.”

“You are doing what you can,” Balin reassured him, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “Just... just do as Uncle Gróin tells you. He has so much experience, he knows...” He broke off and Thorin wondered if his mind too was going back to Gundabad and the horrors they had seen, the screams they had heard there. “He knows...” Balin repeated lamely.

“How come I have not heard of that?” Thorin wondered, his thoughts racing. He should know these things, he should do something about them. “We are in Rhudaur just now, there are settlements of Men in the valleys, I would have sent a requisition party...”

“I ran a message to Adad,” Dwalin said softly. “It’s taken care off.”

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. Fundin was... Fundin knew... He knew how to keep his king from crumbling under the weight of the mountains.

“That’s no talk for Yule,” Frerin said. “It’s the Feast of Light tonight.”

Thorin could not tell if Frerin was aware of the irony of talking about light in the midst of impenetrable and all-consuming darkness, but his unquenchable spirit was always appreciated. It was indeed Yule. Thorin had addressed their troops earlier, thanking them for their service and then letting his father lead the prayer for Mahal’s light and guidance.

“I have,” Frerin started and wriggled around, clearly searching for something in his small pack. “Something for you... Ha!” With a triumphant cry he withdrew something from beneath his spare set of clothes.

He leaned over Thorin and wheedled something into Dwalin’s hands that were still clasped around his legs. Dwalin lifted his head in surprise.

“An apple?” he asked in disbelief, just as Frerin handed one each to Balin and Thorin.

“Requisition party... pretty good assignment if you can get it,” Frerin said smugly. Despite his youth his charming nature had become a major asset in keeping their army fed and equipped.

The sons of Fundin thanked him as they admired the fruits that were a rare luxury these days, but Thorin found himself unable to speak, instead bumping shoulders with his brother. He remembered.

They ate their apples, munching away and for once feeling some sense of contentment, even starting to chatter a bit between them. Later, when the camp around them had gone to sleep and Dwalin was snoring softly in Balin’s arms, Thorin reached out a hand to his brother.

“You remember that Yule,” he whispered. “That Yule in the snow...”

“Of course,” Frerin replied, squeezing his fingers gently. “That apple was the most magical present I ever had for Yule.”

“It was nothing.”

“To us it was everything.”

“It was just an apple.”

“And it was life, it was joy, it showed us that we hadn’t lost everything.”

Thorin swallowed heavily. They hadn’t lost everything. They had lost much, were losing more every day, but there were still apples. Even in the darkest night there was still some light.

“You always take good care of us, Thorin,” Frerin said.

“I don’t,” Thorin protested. “I couldn’t even...”

His brother shushed him. “You are doing so well.”

Thorin wanted to protest, had a list of his many failings at the ready, but Frerin laced their fingers together and shifted closer until his face was nestled into Thorin’s braids. With his mouth almost touching Thorin’s ear, he sang very softly the second verse of that old Yule song Thorin had shared with them back then on the road:

_My love of kindest eye, I sing;_

_Thy heart with love doth sweetly brim;_

_Light born to us our treasured thing;_

_Many's a vict'ry thou shalt win!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You are making me a lovely Christmas present every time you comment. I hope you are having a wonderful December so far. I’m writing these lines from a storm-battered Scotland, but surrounded by the warmth of family and hope you all get to have an apple today.


	7. The Feast of Darkness

The fireplace provided the only light. They had sat here so long that even the long-lasting Dunland sun had set. They were all just dark shapes in the gloom, the red glow of the flames dancing across their faces, casting shadows upon them, painting strange, flickering silhouettes onto the walls.

They had eaten, apparently, as there were dirty plates and cutlery on the table, but Thorin had no memory of the meal, could not recall taste or consistency, knew only that whatever he had eaten now lay as a lump of lead in his stomach. He had no memory of cooking either, so it must have been Dís’ turn and her cooking was always impeccable, but he still felt bile rise in his throat.

The only noise was the grating scrape of the spoon that Dwalin was absentmindedly spinning on the tin plate in front of him, and the soft crackling of the fire. Thorin looked up, but nobody met his eye. Dwalin was staring at his spoon like it was all that mattered in his life, spinning it round and round without pause. Balin was resting his elbows upon the table and had placed the tip of his nose on his folded hands. He was chewing his knuckles, a nervous habit Thorin had noticed a few times by now. Thorin’s father occupied the head of the table, slouched down in his chair, his arms hanging limply at his side and tears streaming from his good eye into his beard. Dís had drawn her legs up onto the bench, curling herself into a ball, but she seemed to be the most alert out of all of them, looking at him with a steady gaze even as the red light seemed to make her form shift and shiver.

There was a silent negotiation. They had gotten good at these. Then Thorin and Dís both stood at the same time, Thorin mumbling something about the fire while his sister started to gather the dirty dishes. Dwalin jumped up so quickly his ridiculous crest of hair swayed like trees in a hurricane, and trailed after her, carrying plates into the kitchen. Thorin looked at Balin and received a short nod from him, confirming that he’d stay at the table while they all went about their business.

To the sound of splashing water and the soft clatter of dishes, Thorin stoked the fire and added some more wood to it. It was a cold night. He watched the flames lick along the edges of the logs, embracing and then devouring them. Dís did not like the fire, so Thorin usually took care of this. None of them could afford to be afraid of fire, but it was only natural to be hesitant. Fire devoured, had devoured all that Dís had loved. Her mother, her home, her brother, all claimed by the flames. It was only natural to be afraid.

Thorin pushed the images to the back of his mind, images of that dreadful morning in the vale of Azanulbizar when he had watched the flames. He could banish the images, but the smell always lingered. Angrily, he stoked the fire, causing a piece of wood to crumble, sparks spraying everywhere. He put the poker aside and turned back to face the table once more. Balin and Thráin still sat in silence. Thorin took a deep breath before he sat down again, followed shortly by Dís and Dwalin.

Thorin could not keep his thoughts from straying. His fingers brushed the knobbly scars on his shield arm. He had been lucky, they had told him, lucky to keep his arm, lucky to be alive. That was luck, apparently. He could go about most of his daily tasks by now, and if it still pained him that was nothing to bother anybody with. The scars were just another kind of memory.

Suddenly, Dís’ small hand was on his leg, rubbing slow circles again the muscle. Dwalin had stretched his long legs out underneath the table, one on either side of Thorin’s feet, squeezing gently, grounding him. Neither one of them looked at him or gave any indication of what they were doing at all.

The scrape of his father’s chair being pushed back startled Thorin. Thráin stood, slowly, but with determination. Thorin was instantly alert, but his father only shuffled over to the cupboard, and after a brief rummage around, he retrieved a stack of mismatched little cups —all made from scraps of metal or in some way damaged during production— and a glass bottle. Thorin recognised one of the distilled spirits the Dunlendings made of the fruit that grew in such large amounts under the hot sun in these parts. When his father put five cups onto the table, he had to interfere.

“Just three, adad. Dís and Dwalin are too young.”

He could hear a soft noise of protest from his friend, but mostly he was focussed on the clear, hard look his father gave him.

“If they are old enough to fight in the greatest war of our time, whether in battles or in defending our livelihoods, then they should not be treated as children,” Thráin said with a sigh. “You could all use a good sleep tonight.”

There was no arguing with that.

They each grasped one of the tiny cups, the smell of alcohol heavy around the table. They all stood and raised their cups as Thráin delivered the toast.

“May Mahal’s light shine upon us once more and may our next Yule be happier,” he said, his voice steady.

“May Yule be happier,” they all echoed and drank.

The strong liquor burned Thorin’s throat, but it also warmed him in a way that no fire could. Dís, who to Thorin’s knowledge had never tasted such a thing, shook herself like a wet dog, but it was Dwalin who made them all smile as he suffered a coughing fit, turning bright red and spluttering as his brother thumped him on the back.


	8. Working towards the Light

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Thorin put the hammer down. He had given the knocking signal and he knew that below ground they would now all be downing their tools and scrambling to make themselves presentable, or as presentable as could be expected from miners who had just finished their shift. It was the last shift before Yule and it was traditionally marked by a special celebration, ending early enough for the miners to emerge from the pithead just before the weak winter sun set and the longest night of the year began. It was a tradition Thorin only vaguely remembered, but with the help of some of the older survivors from Erebor, he hoped that he had managed to recreate enough elements of it to be recognisable, while introducing new parts that were specific to the Ered Luin and the changed times they had experienced.

Thráin was with him, but Thorin did not expect any aid from his father on such matters. He would not come to his rescue today or any other day, having lost his purpose in the Vale of Azanulbizar along with so many others. This new settlement was one for the young, for the ones who still had some fight left in them, who fought every day to coax ore from the rock, to till the earth in completely un-Dwarven labour, for those who fought to survive because somehow deep inside they held a belief that life was still worth living. Today it fell to Thorin to show them that there was still strength in the line of Durin. He was still strong, even if he no longer considered himself unbroken.

Just as the setting sun turned the winter sky into a dramatic painting in pink and orange, the heavy steps of the miners could be heard. The crowd that had assembled at the pithead started to shift where they stood, craning their necks to make out their shapes in the darkness of the tunnel. They cheered when the foreman appeared, bright lantern in hand, leading his men. They all had their tools on their shoulders and even though they wore tattered garments grey with sweat and dust instead of a polished uniform, they reminded Thorin of the wooden figures on Erebor's great Yule pyramid as they marched steadily out into the light.

There was music and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves around the bonfire, being handed steaming cups of mulled cider by Dís and her friends. Thorin did not join in with the singing and general merriment. In his head, he went over his speech once more. _Short and sweet_ his sister had told him, knowing full well that that was easier said than done. _Leaves more time for drinking!_ had been Dwalin's comment. Balin had been somewhat more helpful, but in the end he had patted Thorin on the shoulder and told him not to worry. Well, he was worrying, but there was no way around it. Short and sweet, he reminded himself, knowing he'd need the reminder, and cleared his throat.

"Friends," he began, but even though he was certainly not soft spoken, he could not make himself heard over the din of conversation. "Friends, if you..." he tried again, but to no avail.

"Oi, listen up, folks," his cousin Gróin roared over his mug. "Speech!"

"Speech!" cried several others, raising their drinks and slowly turning towards Thorin who was thankful for his beard and the soft lighting, hoping they might combine their efforts to hide his blush as everyone's eyes were upon him. He cleared his throat again.

"Friends," he said once more and this time they listened. "My thanks to all of you for joining into our celebrations today. My thanks to all of you for making sure we had something to celebrate. We got together here today to honour the safe return of all of our miners to the light of day, to give our thanks for the light that means so much to those who toil in the midst of darkness and danger. My father and I thank you all for your hard work and endurance, for the dedication and ingenuity you have shown since we first sank a mineshaft into the rock of the Ered Luin. The mine has been the mother's milk to our fledgling town, and through the work of our miners we shall see our settlement grow and prosper. We give thanks to Mahal for showing us such plentiful ore deposit, and for equipping us with the hardiness and skill to exploit them. We remember those whose lives have been lost in the rock and command their spirits to the Maker. May their souls find honour at his side!"

"May their souls find honour," the assembled crowd repeated.

"We give thanks to Mahal for the quality of the ore we mine, and for the ability of our smelters and smiths to work it into weapons and tools. We pray to Mahal for his continued blessing and support in all of our endeavours and respectfully ask him to grant us a successful trade in the years to come so we may all work together to ensure our folk prospers and grows for the glory of the Maker."

Thorin looked around. He did not seem to have lost them just yet. They seemed to be following along. Dwalin met his eye over the heads of the crowd. He was not even fully grown, but he already stood taller than most and slowly the gangly lad was starting to fill out and develop into a proud warrior. His friend nodded and smiled and Thorin felt ready to continue. If he hadn't managed to bore Dwalin yet, chances were he could still count on everyone else. The last light of the day turned everything ruby red and the soft snowflakes glowed like tiny embers against the darkening sky.

"As the sun sets today," Thorin continued. "We remember both the light and the darkness we have experienced, and even as we know that darkness is inevitable as we delve for greater and deeper treasures, we also pray to Mahal to bless us with light and life and a reason to return from the darkness. You, all of you, are architects of our new life, and my father and me thank you not only for your support, but for the initiative many have shown to ensure we all work to the best of our abilities. We have only a settlement now," he said, sweeping his hands over the small huts that cowered around the pithead, providing poor shelter during winter storms. "But in time and with Mahals blessing, may they become halls worthy of our House, may they become homes. On this day, we ask Mahal to guide us with his light, to show us the path, even as we become lost in a warren of endless tunnels. May we forever work towards the light. A blessed Yule to all of you!"

"A blessed Yule!" the answering cry went up and they all drained their cups.

They cheered, and the music started up again, and soon there was much joy and merriment as they began to enjoy two days off from their daily work. Thorin delighted to see them like this, relaxing after long years of toil and hardship, if only for a few short hours, but his greatest blessing was his father's hand upon his shoulder.

Thráin faced him directly, then gently brought their foreheads together.

"A blessed Yule," he whispered. "A blessed Yule, my light."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tradition described here is a so-called Mettenschicht, once again a custom from the German Ore Mountains, a region that depended heavily on mining for most of its history and truly learned to value the light amidst the darkness and danger of their industry.
> 
> My apologies for the delay in posting. Our term is ending next week and since I'm teaching about 200 students, I have 200 people chasing me right now for last minute questions about their assessment, which puts some limitations on my free time. Hopefully I'll be back on track for morning posts from tomorrow!


	9. And Peace among My Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mental illness & domestic violence

Mahal had blessed them. Twenty years of blood, sweat, and more tears than Thorin cared to admit after they had first celebrated Yule at the pithead, their mines were providing a steady yield and a measure of industry had been developed around them. Trade income was still vulnerable, but slowly, very slowly, they were building a reputation based on the quality of their wares. Many of their neighbours were still slow to trust them, falling victim to age-old prejudice between the races, and Thorin had had to learn to adapt his negotiation strategies to the faster pace and smaller span of the lives of Men. Mistakes had been made, and many dire winters had been suffered, but of course giving up had never been an option. He would lead them through any hardship, had indeed lead them through many, but today Thorin actually felt a modicum of optimism about their future. It had been a good celebration and it wasn’t just the mulled cider putting a spring into his step. It had been a fitting tribute to a successful year.

They had erected a collection of small stone cottages over the years. Proper underground dwellings would follow in time. For now their labour was more valuable in the mines. The settlement lay in silence now, covered in a soft blanket of snow, faint candlelight indicating where families and friends were sharing a quiet dinner. He stopped at their rickety outbuilding to collect some firewood before heading for the house he shared with his family.

A few strides from the door, he heard his sister scream. He dropped the wood and ran, not stopping for even a fraction of a heartbeat as he came crashing into the kitchen.

He reacted purely on instinct, without a conscious thought interfering. It had served him well in battle and carried him somewhat gracefully through the drunken punch-ups Dwalin seemed to attract. The scene in front of him was all sharp outlines and colours so much brighter than they should have been in the dim light. The intensity of it was jarring. Dís was backed up against the far wall, an odd combination of terror and defiance in her eyes, struggling against their father who had her pinned against the rough stone. Dís was a tall dwarrowdam in her prime, but she did not stand a chance against a highly-trained and battle-hardened warrior. She didn’t, he realised, because she did not want to hurt him, even though his weight on her wrists must have caused her pain.

“Forgive me!” Thráin shouted into her face. He kept repeating it, _forgive me, forgive me, forgive me_ , even as Thorin dragged him off, as Thorin pushed his own father as far away from his sister as he could. What had Thráin done to her that required forgiveness?

Thráin drifted back like a pendulum, like Dís was a magnet, continued to strain towards her even when Thorin grabbed him by the shoulders. Struggling to hold his father back, Thorin turned to his sister. Dís was still leaning against the wall, though she had sagged slightly, her chest heaving.

“You all right?” he asked and hated the words as soon as they left his mouth. Of course she wasn’t.

Dís nodded her head jerkily, staring at him unseeingly.

“What’s going on here?” Thorin asked, shaking his father. “What’s happening?” Thráin looked up it him, his eyes wide. “Speak!” Thorin demanded.

“She’s dead,” Thráin said, his voice airy. Thorin wheeled around again, looking at Dís. Had he tried to...? If he... he couldn’t even finish that thought.

Dís was slowly composing herself and waved away his concern. “’m fine,” she said, but it came out tight and terse.

“She died,” Thráin said, but he seemed as calm as if he were talking about the weather. “She died and now she has come back for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Thorin asked, staring at his father, unable to place his words. “She’s here.”

“She has come back for me,” Thráin repeated.

“She has been here the whole time, she stayed home with you because you didn’t want to attend the celebration,” Thorin said. “Father,” he added pleadingly. “She is just taking care of you. Father, please.”

“Father,” Thráin repeated, as if he was trying the word on for size. Then he suddenly shrank away from Thorin and his voice was a pitiful whimper when he continued. “No, father, I tried, I tried, father, but she wouldn’t... I killed her children. I killed them, father...”

“I’m not your father,” Thorin shouted, shaking him roughly, trying to shake some sense into him. Had he been on the drink?

Thráin dodged his grip and retreated to the fireplace, leaning his forehead against the mantelpiece. Thorin allowed himself to breathe for a moment, although thoughts were still whirling in his head. He startled when Dís put a soft hand onto his forearm. She was still wide-eyed, but seemed calmer now that Thráin had settled somewhat.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said very softly, leaning into him as if she needed him to stay upright. “We were just talking... I was preparing the bread and he was telling me about Yule in Erebor. I don’t know what triggered this...”

Thorin didn’t know what to say, so he just put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her lithe form against himself. She was so strong, his little sister, so strong...

“They died, they all died,” Thráin said, his voice flat and so removed that it made Thorin shiver. “They burned. We are all burning, burning, always burning. They all burned...”

He was viciously stabbing the fire with the iron poker, sparks flying everywhere. Thorin swallowed hard and gave his sister’s shoulders another squeeze before he approached his father again.

He kept his voice as calm and even as he could. “We are all safe, adad, nobody is burning. Everybody is safe now.”

“They all burned. The fire. The fire ate them. The dragon, it breathed fire and they burned, they all burned and then they burned again, the ones that fought, they burned...”

“We are safe,” Thorin repeated, not knowing what else to say.

“We are all going to burn,” Thráin said, not threatening, just observing, and his eerie calm made his words even worse. He held the poker like a sword, had it sheathed deep into the fire.

“But it’s Yule, adad,” Thorin said and felt like a young boy again. “The fires give us light, the fires are good tonight.”

For a moment all was quiet except for Thorin’s blood pounding in his ears.

Thráin wheeled around so fast, Thorin barely had time to react. He jerked back as the heavy iron poker was drawn towards him in a vicious arc, but the tip still landed on his unprotected wrist. He hissed in pain and surprise, taking another step back and cradling his hand against his chest. He was a smith, he got burns, he got burns all the time, he had scars up and down his arms, he was a smith and this was nothing unusual, but this was no careless gesture, this was no mindless scrap of metal, this was an attack, this was his father attacking him and that hurt more than the angry red mark on his skin.

The smell made him cringe, the smell of singed hair and skin so close to his nose. He hated that smell because it took him back, right back to... oh. Suddenly he realised where his father’s mind had been and it took his breath away. They all burned.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to hide.

But he had to be strong and unbroken.

He had to.

_My love, my dear, my darling thou;_

Dís was singing, her voice wavering slightly, but still high and clear.

_My joy, my fine young treasure thou;_

Thráin’s features, clenched in some mindless fury softened.

_My splendid little child art thou;_

Thorin wished they were still splendid little children

_And blessed am I to tend thee now._

Dís slowly approached their father and gently took the poker from him, he gave it willingly.

_May Mahal guide you;_

Dís started the chorus.

_May Mahal guide you;_

Thráin’s voice joined in, slowly, haltingly.

_May Mahal guide you;_

Dís smiled at him encouragingly and Thráin’s voice grew stronger.

_Let Him be your light._

Thorin fervently hoped that He would be their light.


	10. Many Apples to Share

“Thank you Dwalin, appreciate it.”

“Any time, man. He’s always been like an uncle to me, it’s the least I can do.”

“You shouldn’t have to be up all day, watching him, not when you’re on night duty. I just really... he feels safe with you.”

“Was a good day, too. He came outside for a bit to watch me split logs. Told me stories over tea again, I swear I’ve got the Erebor guard routes memorised now!”

They finished their pipes in silence, and then Thorin turned towards the door, heading inside as he bid his friend farewell.

“If there’s ever anything I can do for you...”

“Actually... yes!” Dwalin replied and Thorin had not expected that. “I’ve got time before I need to report at the gate and I could use some company. Join me for a beer at the tavern?”

Thorin hesitated, clutching the door. “We could just... I’m sure we’ve still got some at home.”

“Aye, but Baldur could use our custom.”

“I should probably... Thráin...”

“Your father is in bed already, snoring up a thunderstorm. And Dís got home a while ago. He’s having a good day, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

They went back and forth on the matter several times, until Dís interjected telling her brother that she could very well manage on her own and if he didn’t close the door and jog off this very moment, he’d be sleeping in the shed tonight. That much for supportive sibling relationships. Feeling somewhat betrayed, Thorin set out with Dwalin towards the centre of the town.

The night was bitterly cold, stars glimmering in the clear sky as their breaths billowed from their mouths in great clouds. At least the cold seemed to keep people inside; they met nobody on the road, the only sign of life the smoke rising from chimneys and the glimmer of light behind the windows where families sat together for their evening meal.

“Any luck today?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin just made a non-committal noise. It wasn’t that the day had gone badly, in fact it had gone as well as could be expected, but he was done with being a leader for the day, all he wanted was to be an ordinary Dwarf, one who did not have to worry about treaties and trade quotas and court rulings and complaints.

“At least the food stores are looking nice and full,” Dwalin tried again to start a conversation. Thorin guessed he owed him one.

“The harvest was good and we were able to buy in quite a bit,” he confirmed. “We are still rationing everything, but it shouldn’t be too bad this year.”

Dwalin hummed contentedly. “Can’t stand a meagre Yule, me, so that’s good to hear.”

When Thorin didn’t reply, he continued. “Remember the satsumas in Dunland? Now there’s a real treat! And always ripe right around Yuletide as well. Used to love those. Balin used it shamelessly against me, bribed me into all sorts of things!”

He laughed at the memory and Thorin smiled. Young Dwalin’s fondness of satsumas had been legendary, he used to get into all sorts of trouble to obtain just one more and Thorin still recalled one particular incident in which he they had gotten stuck on top of a tree like some pansy Elves, and Thorin had barely been able to stop laughing long enough to run to get a ladder and help them back down, Dwalin and...

He viciously kicked a snowbank and watched it tumble in a cloud of white powder.

“And remember the Yule presents you used to make? Oh and Balin as well. That one year when he made the lantern with all those stars. Dís loved that one!”

Thorin pushed those memories as far away as he could.

“Don’t think anybody still does Yule presents,” he said. “Everyone is too preoccupied with putting food on the table and keeping the children warm, nobody spares a thought for paper lanterns. Just one more old tradition I have made them break with.”

They had argued about this many times and the exasperated look Dwalin gave him spoke volumes of that. Still, if Thorin had been a better leader, people would still have enough leisure to be treating their children to something special, rather than just scrambling for survival in these gold- and gem-less mountains. But Dwalin did not argue tonight.

“How about we create some new traditions,” he said instead.

How exactly they came up with the idea, neither one of them would be able to recall, but something developed from thinking about the satsumas and the memory of past Yuletides when there had been more to look forward to than merely two days without work. They all treasured their children, rare gems that they were, but somewhere along the way, the wonder of Yule had been lost amidst the toil and terror of their lives.

Dís heard them rummage around the storage cupboards, but when she asked what in Mahal’s name they were up to now, Dwalin told her it was a secret and blew her a kiss. Thorin was smiling somewhat sheepishly as they made off with a large bag of apples and a smaller one of walnuts. Dwalin barely made it to the gate in time to start his night-time duty as a member of the town’s guard.

The next morning, both of them were out and about early, seemingly in deep conversation, stopping here and there, lingering in front of houses as families got ready for their day. Most kept their heavy winter boots on low shelves underneath the overhanging roofs of their houses, trying to keep the inside dry and tidy as they all lived in such crowded conditions. As everybody slipped into their boots, there was a surprise waiting for the dwarflings.

Walnuts and apples were nothing compared to the wonders of Erebor at Yule, and Thorin knew he would not have been terribly excited about them as a small child, but he also knew just how much an apple could mean. There were shining eyes all around and not just among the children either; their parents were laughing as well.

“It’s magic,” Dwalin whispered as a small boy squealed right in front of them, pulling a bright red apple out of his boot.

The word stirred memories within Thorin’s brain, and he clenched his teeth for a moment, but people were smiling around him, for once living in the moment instead of worrying about their future, and their positivity was contagious.


	11. The Brightest Light

“Ah, you look like a diamond, Díssy, all shining and bright!”

“Look at her eyes, if anything, she’s a sapphire!”

“Sapphires aren’t even necessarily blue, Rúna, stop it.”

“How would I know? It’s not like I’m ever likely to get my fingers on a precious stone!”

“Oh, but Dís is getting her fingers on something much more precious tonight...”

“Must be. The new fellow even has her braiding her hair all nice and fancy.”

Dís hid a blush in her teacup. She had been experimenting a little with her hair since she had started to shun the strict Durin braids, but usually practicality won out and she just gathered her hair at the nape of her neck with a simple clasp.

“He’s a good Dwarf though, that Jóli,” Rúna said. “We grew up together. Always a fun lad to be around. If nothing else, you’ll have something to laugh about tonight.”

“Not sure that’s what she’s after...”

“Doesn’t hurt though.”

“He does have a nice beard though, all blond and golden.”

“Oh you know what they say, long beard, long elsewhere...”

“Hedda!!”

Dís smiled at the banter between the other women. She enjoyed living with them. It was so different from the terse and dour atmosphere in her previous household. She had not laughed that much since before the war. After Thráin’s disappearance, there had been little to unite her and Thorin; they had fought more often than not, and after a few months, Dís had had enough. It was not unusual for single people to share a household, if anything it was more common among the Dwarrow than among any other race, seeing as they did not marry that often, but Thorin had hated the very idea. According to him she was to be treasured and protected, a real princess of the oh so grand line of Durin... he still did not seem to notice that times had changed.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and the friendly bickering of the three others. They looked up at her full of excitement.

“Well, I better go then...” Dís said and drew her cloak around her shoulders before opening the door.

They all had to crowd in behind her, but to Jóli’s credit, he seemed unperturbed.

“Good evening, Dís,” he said with a low bow, then bowed again with a particular flourish. “At your service, my ladies.”

They giggled at that and Dís hurriedly left the house, stepping out into a crisp, clear night. The snow glittered in the bright light of a nearly full moon. Before she could close the door, Hedda had her foot in it, forcing it open again.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“She’d struggle to find anything,” was Rúna’s dry reply as she closed the door.

Jóli cocked an eyebrow. “Charming.”

Dís chuckled. “Indeed. So now that you have rescued me from that pit of vipers, should we head down to the tavern?”

“Well, I was thinking... if you’d like to that is... maybe we could... you know just go for a walk? It’s just, it’s such a fine night.”

“Oh, sure,” she answered, a little surprised. She hadn’t exactly made herself rare over the past months, and so far every single Dwarf had taken her to the tavern. “I’d like that,” she hastened to add, realising she had probably sounded rather brash and ungrateful.

“Fantastic,” he declared and smiled up at her. And oh that smile... that smile was quite something. It shone brighter than the moon and made his silly little moustache braids jiggle.

Conversation came easily as they traipsed through the snow. Rúna was right, he really was fun company. He was sure-footed as he lead her up the hillside on a faint deer-track and along the ridge for a mile or two, not slowing unnecessarily as if she could not keep up with him, like her brother was wont to do.

He asked her about her work and she was more than happy to talk about that. Like many others her age, she had missed the opportunity to start an apprenticeship after the war, had then been preoccupied with their journeys, and finally with caring for her father, so she was proud to say that she had been taken on by a cutler. She obviously had some experience at the forge, it was hard not to with her family, but she enjoyed this more delicate work much more and was slowly making a bit of a name for herself with her intricate designs.

Jóli asked with genuine interest. Despite being obviously fond of the sound of his own voice, he seemed to also enjoy hearing hers. Dís did not mind, his stories of his work as a carpenter in the mines were entertaining, particularly when he was talking about the antics he got up to with his best friend Bofur.

“Just plain old support beams, most of the time, nothing artistic and beautiful like your work,” he said.

“Ah see, but your work keeps the miners alive, so that’s quite beautiful in its own right.”

“Aye, but not every wife sees it that way,” he replied, a chuckle already building in his throat.

The conversation flowed back and forth between them and more often than not they were both laughing. Before long, they reached a place Dís had never been to. The forest ended suddenly and they were standing in front of a steep drop, half of a round crater that seemed to have been punched out of the mountainside by some mighty hammer, a dark lake glittering far below them. There was an untarnished view towards the north, distant mountains looming in front of the magnificent starlit sky.

Dís had to stand still for a while, just looking at the marvel of thousands upon thousands of bright lights illuminating the night.

“It’s beautiful,” she finally said.

“I’m glad you like it,” he answered, proud as if he had lit the stars himself.

He brushed the snow off a large boulder with his gloves and spread the sheepskin he had worn around his shoulders over it. Dís was somewhat more inclined to forgive him that aesthetic disaster. He had brought tea in his satchel and even a few thick sliced of buttered bread and an apple for each of them. Once they were done eating, Dís leaned against his shoulder and Jóli pointed out some of the more prominent constellations.

“And over there, that’s the crown of Durin,” he said, taking her hand in his and stretching her arm upwards, towards a particularly bright star with three others on either side. It did not escape her that he was still holding her hand long after she had seen the crown, but she didn’t mind.

He squeezed her fingers and for the first time his voice sounded a bit insecure. “I’m no warrior, no true son of Durin. Is that bad?”

Bad! She wanted to laugh. Oh he had no idea... But laughing probably wouldn’t help.

“It’s not,” she said instead. “On the contrary. I’ve had enough of war and of warriors to last me for a lifetime.”

“Really?”

“Really. You know my father and my brother. I do not want to go back to that, a cage of honour and duty that strangles all signs of life and happiness. I do not want to be the one who is left behind to wait and see who comes back at all and who comes back with half his mind or part of his body missing. I’ve truly had enough of warriors.”

He did not dwell on the matter and for that she was thankful. It did no good to rekindle those memories of days gone by. She was ready to focus on the future, to finally let herself hope that it might hold something brighter for her.

“It is something special for us down in the mines,” he finally said. “The light, it really means a lot to us. When you are down there for a whole shift, it’s almost like you forget. You forget that the world exists, that there is still starlight and sunshine. So I like to come up here and just soak it all up, just so I can carry all that light in my heart when I’m down there.”

She smiled and let her head rest against his shoulder. “Is that why the Yule celebrations are so important? The big fires and all...”

“Yule is special,” he agreed. “But it’s about a different kind of light. It always makes us... it makes us feel like there are people waiting for us, that our work is appreciated and there are people looking out for us. It’s like every face is a star for us down in that never-ending night.”

“So poetic, my lowly woodworker,” she teased. “So am I now a star for you?”

His voice was more earnest than it had been all night when he answered. “For me you are the brightest star.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies once again for a very late chapter today. I've missed a good many time zones by now, for the very simple reason of having caught a horrible cold. For the first time in a good 14 years of working, I have actually had to call in sick today and wasn't even able to focus on writing. Hope this chapter makes you smile a little today. On to brighter times for our beloved Dwarves now!


	12. Through the Eyes of a Child

“It’s not much...”

“It’s fantastic!” Jóli said and his smile lit up the room more than the sputtering oil lamp could ever hope to do. He put the small knife she had made for him on the table and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “And you’ve given me the greatest present of them all a good six months early. I’m the happiest Dwarf west of the Misty Mountains!”

“You old sap,” she teased, twisting in his embrace and looking at the baby in the cradle next to the hearth.

“It’s true, my star,” he answered. “I couldn’t wish for anything more than Fíli and you.”

“Nor I,” Dís said, leaning against his shoulder. “I don’t remember ever being this happy.”

“So you wouldn’t even want your Yule present?” He asked, a fake frown around his mouth, but his eyes still glittering with glee. “That’s fine, of course, I mean it only took me a few weeks to make it, I wouldn’t mind at all if you decided you didn’t want it because I’m obviously all you could ever want from life...”

“Go on then, I wouldn’t want your good work to go to waste,” Dís said in mock resignation. “Since you apparently managed to do work for once.”

“You sit here,” he said and drew up a chair. “Oh and close your eyes! It’s a surprise!”

She did as he had told her and could not help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. They had been married for three years and they hadn’t been easy years by any stretch of imagination, but Jóli’s enthusiasm and high spirits had always carried them through.

She heard him rummage around, put something on the table and then there was the hiss of a match.

“Can I look yet?” she asked.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t peek!”

She heard him lift Fíli from his cradle, speaking softly to his son as the dwarfling cooed. Then there was a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Time for your present now, my light. Take a look!”

She could feel him bounce with anticipation beside her and was eager to find out the source of all this excitement. As she opened her eyes, her vision had to adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh Jóli...”

Words failed her and she got up swiftly to hug him tightly and kiss him over Fíli’s head.

“Like it?”

“It’s... oh Jóli... it’s... oh Jóli, it’s gorgeous.”

For some reason there were tears in her eyes. She didn’t know why. It was beautiful, it really was, but somehow it also touched something deep, deep insight her, something she had expected to be dead and buried long ago, some faint memories stirring that she had doubted she’d ever had.

“Hey, starlight,” Jóli said gently, cradling her in his arm while balancing the baby in the other. “No tears tonight, my love, It’s Yule.”

That just made her cry all the harder. It was Yule, but Yule meant so many things to her. She had seen so many different types of Yule. There were many happy memories, but there were also the others... the first time their father had attacked them had been at Yule. Then there were all the tears at Yule that dreadful year right after the war had ended. And particularly sharp in her mind even though she knew she should have been too young to remember, there was a Yule in the snow, sharing an apple with Frerin under Thorin’s furs.

“Oh love...” Jóli said as she buried her head into his shoulder, soaking the fabric of his tunic with her tears while he gently patted her back. “That’s all over... Yule is happy now. We’re here for you now, Fíli and I, and we’re never going to leave you.”

Hearing is name, Fíli made a small gurgling sound and Dís struggled to pull herself together. He did not need to see his mother so upset over nothing. Jóli kept reminding her that it was quite all right to show her emotions, and she was slowly learning, but this was Yule after all, and her son should have only happy Yule memories.

She wiped her eyes and looked at her Yule present properly. It was beautiful, and certainly not worthy of tears. It was small, no more than a foot in height, but carved in exquisite detail. Four candles created the heat that made the rotor turn and an axle in the centre made the figures on the two round platforms hurry along on their endless journey.

“I don’t even know... I don’t even know if I remember,” she said and there were still tears in her voice. “I was so young back then, I might just remember the stories my father and my brother told me. I don’t even know if I really remember my mother taking me to see the great pyramid.”

“That doesn’t even matter,” Jóli said. “Either way, it’s a memory of happy times with your family. And I’m hoping it’ll be a sign of happy times to come with our family as well.”

The pyramid was moving so quickly, she actually had to stop it to look at the figurines properly. They were barely the size of her thumb, but even though they were recognisable.

“You actually carved the two of us?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Well, we want our sons to only have the best of role models, don’t we?”

“Our _sons_? Have you carved yourself a second one?”

“If I remember correctly they are made differently... and I intend to make many more of them if they are all half as cute as Fíli. And a few daughters as well, obviously.”

“We’ll need a bigger pyramid if you want to fit a whole stable full of children onto it.”

“You like it then?”

“Like it? Jóli, I love it, it’s the most beautiful thing and it means so much to me... it’s... Thank you.”

He kissed her then and it was so tender, she wanted to melt into it. Fíli however was less enamoured with their tender gestures. Jóli suddenly broke their kiss.

“Ouch, curse it, Mahal’s beard,” he swore.

“Language!” Dís reprimanded. Soon Fíli would be old enough to understand and to repeat and she would not tolerate such manners from her son.

“He’s got my braid! He’s got, ouch! Let go, Fíli darling, please, let go. Ouch! Can you please make sure your son doesn’t pull out half of my moustache! Ouch!”

“You could just go for a slightly less ridiculous style, you know...”

“As long as Dwalin is still walking around with that crest, I... Ouch, you little monster, stop pulling! I think my braids don’t even qualify for anything close to ridiculous... Now would you please help me disentangle your son from my beard!”

She laughed, but finally took pity and lifted Fíli into her own arms, distracting him from the beard clasp he was so desperate to chew.

“Look at this, sunshine,” she encouraged, pointing at the Yule pyramid. “Just you watch them run.”

Fíli was mesmerised by it. His big blue eyes went round as golden coins, reflecting the lights, and he cooed excitedly, trying to lean forward in her arms. He reached out a chubby little hand to touch the lights and Jóli just barely caught his fingers in time.

“You take such good care of us,” Dís said. She meant it, despite their poverty. She had more worries now, but she also had so much more joy in her life.

Jóli embraced them both, pressed a kiss upon Fíli’s blond hair and whispered.

“Happy Yule, my treasures.”


	13. Songs and Merriment

“Relax, my star, everybody is having fun,” Jóli said, pressing a chaste peck to her cheek.

Dís paused in her task of ladling soup into bowls to reply.

“Thorin having fun, that’s like a mine pony reciting poetry!”

Jóli peeked through the door at the three Dwarves gathered in their small living room.

“Well, he hasn’t laughed yet, so the world mightn’t be about to end after all.”

“It’s just awkward having them here.”

“He loves you dearly, Dís, and you love him, so play nice for one evening, will you?”

She promised and they sealed it with a kiss.

“The one I’m worried about is Dwalin,” Jóli said. “I swear he’s going to snap my neck between two fingers if I so much as put a foot wrong around you.”

“You better not mess up then.”

“Oi, I mean it! Have you seen the guy?! He’s about as tall as a tree and he’s vicious!”

“We grew up together, it’s only natural he wants to take care of me,” Dís said. “And look at that ferocious warrior now!”

They both laughed as they spotted Dwalin on his back, spread out on the rug in front of the hearth, a squealing Fíli stabbing him with his tiny wooden sword.

“That’s your son right there,” Jóli said, putting his arms around her hips. “He’s got more courage than me already. I’ll always be a coward.”

She twisted in his arms and pressed a gentle kiss upon his lips.

“But you’re my coward and I know I won’t lose you in some reckless fight and that’s worth more than all the courage in the world.”

It was a bit crowded around their table with five adults and two children, but Dís kept reminding herself not to make any excuses, not for the state of their house and not for the simplicity of the meal. She held Kíli on her lap, feeding him the soft-boiled vegetables from her soup. He was almost a year old by now, still thinner than she would have liked, but he was a happy baby, and slowly catching up in size and development, strong enough to last through the winter. Dwalin had taken Fíli, making Jóli look somewhat panicked as if he was worried that his firstborn himself might become dinner. Dwalin was a natural, eating his own soup with his right and while steadying Fíli’s hand with his left. Bofur and Jóli carried the conversation, but Thorin did not appear to be left out, so Dís let herself relax. It was a good feeling, having friends and family around for the evening while the wind howled down the chimney and rattled the shutters.

After dinner, they retrieved their instruments and started to play. Bofur and his tin whistle were firm favourites in the local taverns, always eager to lead in a merry dance, and Dwalin was more than happy to accompany him on his fiddle. They played a few songs that had all the adults swaying in her seats and Fíli dancing wildly, swirling and jumping in front of the fire. They all applauded him when they had finished.

“He’s got his parents’ passion for dancing already,” Bofur said. Dís did not reply, but it seemed to her that Fíli, who was hiding his blush behind her skirts, had more of his uncle’s bearing in him.

When Bofur declared himself in dire need of another beer, Dwalin said he was happy to continue, and encouraged Thorin to get out his harp. Thorin indulged him and soon they were playing together, the notes blending and chasing each other in turn. If Thorin wasn’t quite as fast as he had been as a boy, it did not show in the least and the two of them still worked together beautifully. When they finished, their audience clapped and complimented him. Thorin brushed his fingers over his harp and even if he wasn’t smiling, he looked content. Dís watched him flex his fingers after they finished, and she also caught Dwalin’s smile. Not many knew how much effort it had been for Thorin to recover the full use of his fingers after his injuries at Azanulbizar.

Jóli played his lute, accompanying each of them in turn, grinning broadly, completely in his element, singing and playing among friends. Dís sang, anything from slow ballads to fast dances. Finally, Jóli carried her harp in from their bedroom, declaring himself ready for a harp duet. Thorin looked like he expected her to decline, but she nodded at him encouragingly. It was slow at first, they played haltingly, taking a long time to settle into what once was a familiar routine, but then memory took over, their play became more confident and when they finished, Thorin actually smiled, a quick and shaky one, but definitely a smile.

As the hours passed and it became apparent that the two young boys were struggling to stay awake, Jóli grabbed his lute again and played them their usual lullaby.

_“Coorie doon, Coorie doon,_

_Coorie doon, my darling,_

_Coorie doon the day._

_Lie doon, my dear, and in your ear,_

_To help you close your eye,_

_I'll sing a song, a slumber song,_

_A miner's lullaby...”_

Dís watched Thorin closely, but he did not seem to object to the workers’ song. It wasn’t a lullaby fit for princes, slow and sad and highlighting the dangers and deprivations of the miners’ lives, but it was a lullaby perfectly suited for the sons of a mining carpenter. Fíli clearly noticed the familiar song and seemed ready to voice his protest.

“One more song and then it’s off to bed for you two,” Dís said once Jóli had finished.

“I’m not...” Fíli started, but interrupted himself with a huge yawn. “Kíli’s not even tired yet!”

Dís tried not to smile as the others guffawed around her. “It’s still way past your bedtime, darling. But you get to chose who plays the last song.”

Fíli looked around in a circle and took some time to make his choice. Dís saw his eyes linger on Bofur, but then he surprised them all.

“Uncle Thorin,” the little boy declared. “Kíli wants to hear a song from Uncle Thorin!”

Thorin looked taken aback, but did not decline his nephew’s request, reaching out for his harp.

Thorin’s deep voice was so warm and colourful and Dís instantly regretted that they did not get to hear it more often. He had been a good singer as a boy, but she had hardly ever heard him sing as an adult. It was an old Yule song that he chose, one they had carried with them from Erebor, asking Mahal to be their guiding light. Kíli cooed happily in his father’s lap and Fíli sat cross-legged in front of his uncle, looking up at him with shining eyes. As he started the second verse, Thorin looked right at his nephew and Dís had to swallow hard as she watched her brother and her son interact through the music and the ancient words.

_My love of kindest eye, I sing;_

_Thy heart with love doth sweetly brim;_

_Light born to us our treasured thing;_

_Many's a vict'ry thou shalt win!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing makes for a better night than music with friends. Liberally blending the German Hutzenabend and Celtic traditions here, with a good dash of personal experience annoying my neighbours when hanging out with friends. Jóli’s lullaby was written and recorded by Scottish folk singer Matt McGinn. It does make a good lullaby, but as an adult you can clearly hear the anger at the dreadful working conditions of the miners, like many Scottish songs it’s pretty political. As I see Jóli as a rather „working-class“ Dwarf, it seemed an appropriate song for him.


	14. Black and White

Jóli whistled as he walked home from work, the small lantern in his hand lighting the way to the outskirts of the town. Winter was late in coming this year; there was no snow down here in the valley, even though Yule was drawing closer. He liked working the day shift, not that it made any difference down the mine, but it meant that he got home in time for supper. He liked working the night shift as well, because that meant he got home in time to wake his sons and have breakfast with them, but he enjoyed evenings more, when he got to tell them bedtime stories and sing them their lullaby.

He heard Fíli’s excited voice chatter and Kíli’s squeals as he untied his boots outside their door. He took care to brush off his clothes and shake out his hair and beard. Not that it did much good. No matter how much he brushed and scrubbed, the dust lingered and when he woke, every morning without fail the pillowcase was grey.

He braced himself against the unavoidable onslaught when he opened the door. Sure enough, with a shout of _Adad!_ a little blond whirlwind flew into his arms, while Kíli on his shorter legs took a bit longer to toddle over, but made up for it with even more noise. He held them close and breathed in their sweet scent, so different from anything he had smelled all day.

When Jóli rose, a boy in each arm, he saw Dís standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking more gorgeous than ever. She had her head thrown back, laughing out loud, her eyes sparkling with glee, one hand pressed against her aching back just above the ties of her apron, while the other brushed through her hair. He couldn’t resist the urge to walk over and kiss her right there and then right on the tip of her regal Durin nose.

“There was a fleck of flour,” he explained, giving her his cockiest smile as she playfully smacked his arm. “Have you three been baking?”

“We’re making Yule bread,” Fíli explained eagerly. “And look, adad, we look just like you when you come home from the mine!”

Jóli looked more closely at his sons and found them rather thoroughly covered in flour.

“Do I usually take a bath in the flour tub when I’m at work?”

“Noooo, but you’re always all dusty and amad says your hair is all dirty.”

“But my dust is black and yours is white.”

“We’re still miners! We’re just flour miners!”

“I think you look more like Yule ghosts than miners. Are you the Yule ghosts who put the apples into our boots at night?”

“No, we’re not ghosts, adad, we’re miners like you, we go in the mountain and then it’s full of flour and we get big tubs of flour and we come out all white and that’s why our hair is dirty.”

Jóli laughed and gently brought their foreheads together.

“What I really hope you are is bakers, ‘cause if some of that flour actually escaped the mess you two rascals were making and made it into the dough, I’m sure we’re in for some mighty fine Yule bread!”

“I helped amad crush the nuts, and Kíli helped, too,” Fíli said. “Kíli cracked the egg for the icing, only he didn’t crack it into the bowl, so amad had to get another egg.”

“They’ve been great little helpers,” Dís confirmed with a chuckle.

“And Kíli tried to eat the ginger, but he didn’t like it,” Fíli continued his tale. “But I got to lick the spoon after we put in the honey and adad it was so good, it was really, really sweet and I liked it a lot!”

All three of the miners had to wash their hands and faces before they sat down at the table, Dís insisted on that, and the boys happily agreed once Jóli had told them that it was all part of being a miner. They had seen him do it every night, though he was a lot rougher with the soap and the stiff little brush when he was cleaning his own fingers. He was gentle with their little hands, so gentle that Fíli giggled and announced that the brush was tickling him.

They ate warm Yule bread for supper that night. There had obviously been no time to prepare any other food, not with two such avid helpers in the kitchen, and by now there wasn’t a clean spoon or surface to be found, so they all had cups of tea and a whole pile of Yule bread and vowed to not tell anybody about how they had skipped vegetables all together. Jóli did not mind in the least. He would get up early the next morning and go out for another 12-hour shift before the sun had even risen, but he had done so on less food. What the Yule bread lacked in nutrition was more than made up for by the sheer love and happiness that surrounded them all that night.

Before tucking the boys into bed, Jóli carried them outside over his shoulder, and just outside the door, as they squealed and giggled, he brushed off their clothes and mussed their hair, trying to eliminate some of the flour they had somehow managed to get into every crack and crevice.

He sang them their lullaby and was asked to tell several stories about their favourite hero, Matti the Miner. After Matti had successfully rescued a spooked pony, made friends with a bat, and shared his lunch with a friend —quite a lot of heroism for one day at work, even by Jóli’s standards— Kíli had finally fallen asleep and Fíli’s eyes were drooping.

“When I grow up, can I be a miner?” he asked sleepily.

“When you are old enough to be apprenticed, you can be anything you want to be,” Jóli told him. “You can be a miner, or a cutler liker your amad, or a smith like your Uncle Thorin... you can be whatever you want to be.”

“I want to be a miner like you, adad.”

Jóli kissed his hair and stayed silent. There was so much to be said about that choice, but none of it suitable for such young ears.

“We’ll talk about that when you’re at least 35,” he finally said.

“I want to be 35 now,” Fíli replied, his words slurred with sleep, as he snuggled deeper underneath the covers, draping his arm around his brother. He was asleep before his father could answer.

Jóli got up silently and pressed a gentle kiss on each forehead.

“Don’t grow up too quickly,” he whispered before he left the bedroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, here’s an extra Jóli chapter, since he seems to have charmed all of you, big heart-breaker that he is! This one wasn’t even planned and let me tell you, it takes a lot to make me change my plans. Yule bread is the Middle Earth version of Lebkuchen, a sort of German gingerbread that I still need to find time to make this year. It’s very quick and easy, but tastes great. If you want to try it, BBC goodfood has a great recipe. I usually glaze them with chocolate though since I’m not fond of icing.


	15. Building Dwarves

“Dís,” Thorin called softly into the dark room. “We are taking the boys outside to play in the snow.”

He had to wait a few moments for a response. His sister’s voice was hoarse when she spoke.

“Where are you taking them?”

“Just to the meadow.”

“Are they...?” Her voice broke.

“They are safe,” Thorin replied. “Dwalin is coming with us.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“We’ll stay close,” he added gently. “You can watch us from the window.”

Her eyes drifted to the shuttered window as if it was an alien concept to her.

“Take care, Dís,” Thorin said and closed the door with a sigh and a silent prayer to Mahal.

Outside the light was bright, the brilliant sunshine reflected by the freshly-fallen snow. Dwalin was kneeling on the ground, trying to wrestle a laughing Kíli back into his coat —a coat that the boy had definitely been wearing when Thorin had left them a mere minute ago— while Fíli pelted him with snowballs. Before Thorin could decide what to do next, Dwalin had buttoned Kíli’s coat, and was now chasing Fíli. Thorin followed them more slowly, Kíli at his side kicking the snow as he went, clapping his hands in his big fur mittens as the white powder rose in big clouds.

While the snow on the path was hard and icy, it was soft as a down duvet in the meadow at the back of their house, but just wet enough to stick together. The little boys sank deep into it, struggling to stay on their feet, but delighting in this new game. It was good to hear them laugh.

“We have a special task today,” Thorin explained. “I need your help to build a snow dwarf.”

It had been Dwalin’s idea, obviously.

“Oh yes,” Fíli shouted. “I want to build a snow dwarf. He can watch over amad when she is in the house.”

“We build the biggest snow dwarf of all times,” Kíli added. “Even bigger than Mister Dwalin!”

Said Mister Dwalin grinned at Thorin and cocked an eyebrow.

“Challenge accepted!”

They had to start small, forming a sphere of snow with their hands, then adding to it until it was large enough to be rolled across the ground, gathering layer upon layer of snow as it went. At first, Kíli was rolling it, but he soon tired and passed the task to his older brother, who in turn needed some assistance from his uncle as the weight of the orb increased. Finally, they had two decent-sized globes so large that Thorin could barely reach around them.

“Can you two make another one?” Thorin asked his nephews. “Just a small one this time. Our snow dwarf needs a head!”

They nodded eagerly and went about their task.

“And I suppose you have some work for me to do as well,” Dwalin said.

Thorin sized him up.

“If it’s supposed to be bigger than you, you’ll have to put a bit more elbow grease into it.”

Dwalin laughed. “Should get it a bit closer to the house as well.”

Fortunately for him, the house stood slightly downhill from where they were, but as the ball of snow gathered momentum, Dwalin soon struggled to keep it from just rolling down the slope. Eventually, he managed to settle the largest sphere securely on a little plateau half-way between Thorin’s house and the outhouse. Together, they carried the medium sphere and carefully placed it on the larger one, smoothing the seam with more snow to make sure the two were properly bonded. Finally, Thorin put the head on top.

“It worked!” Kíli cried. “It’s larger than Mister Dwalin!”

“Good work, men,” Thorin said, clasping arms with each of them in turn.

“Doesn’t look like much of a snow dwarf yet,” Dwalin said, rejoining their group after cutting some rods from a nearby bush. “More like a Yule ghost. A proper Dwarf needs arms!”

He added two rods to the middle sphere, giving the appearance of outstretched spindly arms. The boys watched in awe.

“And a Dwarf needs a nose,” Dwalin declared, cutting another piece of wood to measure and bending it in half. “There you are, perfect dwarven nose,” he said, holding it up in front of his own face, prompting giggles from Kíli.

Kíli was on Dwalin’s shoulders, helping him place lumps of coal that marked the eyes and mouth, while Thorin and Fíli admired their work from a few paces further back.

“Kíli will be sad when he doesn’t get any presents in his boots this year,” Fíli said quietly.

Thorin looked down at him with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the Yule ghosts,” Fíli explained. “It’s not the ghosts that leave the presents. Jári told me that it’s the father who puts them there for his children. And well...”

He broke off and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Thorin put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder and waited until the boy looked up at him before speaking.

“Of course you will have presents,” he said earnestly. “It’s not anybody’s father whose putting them into your boots.”

“Can you promise that?”

“You have my word, Fíli.”

Fíli held his gaze for a few heartbeats, but then he seemed satisfied and slowly nodded his head.

“I would have found an apple for Kíli,” he said.

“If you are worried about something,” Thorin said slowly. “You know you can always come to me, right?”

Fíli stood with his arms folded like a much older Dwarf, looking straight ahead to where his brother and Dwalin were still busy with their snow dwarf. When he finally spoke his voice was almost too quiet to hear, but firm.

“You are not our adad.”

Thorin had to take a few deep breaths to steady his voice. No, he wasn’t, and he would never forgive himself for living while Jóli died. He would never forget that day in the spring when he had knocked on Dís’ door and she had known immediately, had read the bad news in his eyes before he had even opened his mouth.

“No,” he conceded. “But I’m your uncle.”

 _And if I can protect you with my life or death, so Mahal help me, I will,_ he wanted to add, but thought better of it. For all that he appeared wise beyond his years, Fíli was still a child.

They stood in silence for a while.

“That’s good,” Fíli finally said and calmly walked over to the snow dwarf, helping to place the row of coal that stood in for the buttons on the creature’s coat.


	16. A Wild Ride

“Fíli, go and fetch Emerald.”

“Right away, uncle.”

Thorin busied himself with the sleigh while his nephew ran over to the small stable where they kept the pony. He carefully checked every part of the vehicle, making sure that everything was in good working order, that no bit had had a chance to rust or loosen. Fíli soon reappeared, leading the pony. It looked almost comical, the small boy with the beautiful chestnut mare who stood taller than even Thorin himself, more akin in build to the horses of men than the rotund little mining ponies. She was a good mount who had served him faithfully for many years, and Thorin knew her to be placid, just as he knew Fíli to be a good horseman. The lad was gentle and calm, and would soon be ready for his first pony.

As soon as horse and sleigh were successfully united, Dís and Kíli appeared, each bearing several blankets.

“Why do we need so many blankets?” Kíli grumbled as one half-slipped from the pile he was carrying and tangled itself around his legs.

“Because,” Dís answered and stepped in to rescue the blanket from a rather cold and wet fate. “You can never have too many blankets when you are out and about in the winter.”

Thorin nodded. He would never again want to regret not taking a blanket.

Soon they were all seated comfortably, Thorin on one side of the sleigh, Dís on the other, with the boys between them. It was already enough of a task to keep Kíli from tumbling from the seat in excitement when he was placed in the middle. Thorin was not keen on having to dig him out of a snowdrift again. He looked at his sister.

“You good?”

She nodded. “Warm as if I’m sitting in front of the fireplace,” she said with a smile. The real conversation between them needed no words; they shared the memories and tales of other winters.

Thorin clicked his tongue and signalled Emerald that it was time to go. Everybody smiled as the mare started to pull them through the snow. Kíli soon demanded they go faster, as they made their way through the town, while Fíli questioned his uncle about how exactly the pony knew what was expected of her, and how pulling a sleigh differed from pulling a cart. Thorin patiently explained the mechanics behind it all.

Dís greeted some passersby and Thorin nodded in acknowledgement, but the real star was undoubtedly Kíli, who waved so enthusiastically that his mother put a restraining arm around him, obviously also not too keen on a repeat of the snowdrift incident. Everyone they met had a smile for the little boy who seemed to radiate happiness.

Once they had crossed the town and were making their way along the road that lead past the mines, Thorin let Emerald step more freely. The sleigh slid easily along the smooth surface and the mare seemed to be enjoying herself. The snow glittered in the sun, covering everything in a soft blanket and making the trees look like they had been dipped in mithril. It was a beautiful day for a sleigh ride and Thorin did not regret leaving his letters behind for a few hours. After a while, Fíli nudged his uncle.

“Could we stop for just a moment?” he asked, pointing at the dark stone that had been erected on the hillside.

Thorin looked at Dís before he answered and saw her close her eyes for just a heartbeat before she met his glance and nodded.

“Sure, Fíli, we are in no rush.”

He directed Emerald to the side of the road and slowly brought the sleigh to a halt. They all scrambled out from underneath the many blankets and slowly made their way up the hill. Even though it was only a gentle incline, the snow was much deeper here and slowed their ascend. Fíli was in the lead, determined to reach the memorial, while Kíli was trailing behind, more interested in a white hare they had disturbed. When Dís and Thorin reached the stone, Fíli was busy wiping snow from its polished front, carefully scraping it from the letters that had been chiselled into the smooth surface.

It was a long list. Seventeen miners had lost their lives that day. Seventeen fathers and husbands, brothers and sons who would never return to their families. Seventeen good Dwarves who were still mourned all these years after the explosion. Seventeen lives that had been lost to the firedamp. They had all known the dangers, had all learned about the hazards in coal mines, had all worked hard to avoid that deadly build-up of flammable gasses, but it had been in vain. It had been the only disaster in their mines so far, but it had been one too many, and Thorin was reminded of his failure to protect his people every single day when he saw Fíli’s golden hair and Kíli’s sparkling brown eyes, and when he watched his sister struggle bravely through her life as a young widow.

Fíli had finished cleaning the stone and all seventeen names were now clearly visible. His fingers lingered above his father’s name, brushing the letters gently, as if he was caressing them. Then he took a step back and dug a smooth white pebble out of his pocket. He placed it onto the base of the memorial stone and smiled before coming to stand with his mother, draping an arm around her hips. Kíli joined them as well, standing at Dís’ other side and wheedling his hand into hers. Thorin stood behind his sister, unsure what to do. He felt like an intruder, an outsider to their grief. He was about to turn around and wait with Emerald when Dís looked back over her shoulder. He braced himself, but she just smiled at him.

“Thank you, Thorin,” she said softly.


	17. The Revenge of the Yule Ghosts

"Stop it, amad," Kíli said with a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. Thorin imagined he could hear him roll his eyes, surely those muscles must be getting squeaky with the amount of use they saw.

"Attitude," he said in warning without even looking up from the letter he was reading.

Before his youngest nephew could make the situation worse for himself, Fíli interjected.

"It's true though," he said, his voice calmer, but no less petulant. "We're not little dwarflings anymore."

"And we _know_ where we keep the apples," Kíli added. "So all that Yule ghost nonsense, _honestly..._ "

"I don't even _like_ apples," Fíli said.

"And I don't recall a single time since _that_ incident when you actually found an apple in your boot," Dís answered, her voice so carefully controlled that Thorin had to hide a smirk in his teacup. "You seem to like the fudge and shortbread well enough."

Once Dís had ushered them out of the door, each with a lunch tin in his bag and with firm instructions to hurry up on their way to their respective workplaces — no, Kíli, you can't stop at Gimli's place, you'll be late for Master Hanar again — she slid down on the corner seat with a sigh, stirring an extra large spoonful of honey into her tea.

"They are turning my beard grey with that attitude they've got," she said, massaging her forehead. "I have no idea how their masters do it all day."

"Hanar has admitted to giving Kíli tasks where he can't open his mouth without getting a lungful of sawdust when it gets too much," Thorin said with a small smile. "And Fíli is doing well enough, we are thinking about getting him started on blades soon."

While he had insisted that Fíli be apprenticed out to somebody else, Thorin still worked in the same forge and had a watchful eye on his heir's education.

"And both of them are excelling at chopping firewood," Dís replied, referring to their favourite method of letting off some steam when things got too tense in their crowded little house. "They are following in your footsteps."

"Now, Díssy, really, watch what you are saying!" Thorin defended himself. "We were never like that when we were in our forties!"

"You never had a chance to be like that," she said, suddenly serious. "You were in the war when you were in your forties."

Thorin stared into his teacup. They had never had a chance in the war... he had been just a little older than Fíli was now that Yule and an apple had meant so much that year. An apple was life and hope and brotherhood, not a silly reminder of a childish tradition. They did not rebel, they obeyed, obeyed their father and their superior officers. They did not have to be dragged out of bed in the morning, they rose early because they knew it was a blessing that they still could and they felt less vulnerable when they were up. They did not talk back because they were glad when they did not have to have an opinion, did not have to make a decision that would only lead to further loss of life.

"I'm glad they have that opportunity," he said. "I'm so glad they can be difficult and irresponsible."

He was too lenient with them, he knew he was, particularly with Kíli. But how could he punish him? How could he see that smile again and decide to wipe it off his face when he had craved to see it again for so many years? He knew he had to be harsher with them, knew he could not shelter them forever, knew they would have to learn that their actions had consequences, but every day he found himself delaying that rude awakening just a little longer.

"They are good lads underneath it all," Dís said, and Thorin agreed wholeheartedly.

"Still," he said. "I think it's time for the revenge of the Yule ghosts!"

The next morning, even Fíli was ever so slightly more awake than usual and Kíli was positively bouncing in his seat while they had their breakfast. There was no dawdling that morning as they put on their cloaks, grabbed their lunch tins and canteens and headed for the door, eager to put on their boots. Thorin and Dís followed in their footsteps, standing in the open door to watch them. Both boys reached into their boots. Identical looks of consternation appeared on their faces immediately, as they rooted around inside. Thorin smirked and Dís bit her lip to keep herself from laughing out loud as Fíli and Kíli sat back on their haunches, slowly withdrawing their hands from their footwear each clutching something that was definitely neither an apple nor a piece of fudge.

"Coal?" both of them said simultaneously, identical looks of utter confusion as they looked at each other.

"Well, since you are not little dwarflings any more..." Dís said.

"You idiot, why did you say that?" Kíli hissed, punching his brother's arm.

"And you don't believe in all that Yule ghost nonsense..." Thorin added, raising his voice to drown out Fíli's protests. "You surely weren't expecting any treats in your boots today."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we enter the last third of the advent calendar. Thank you all so much for your loyalty and your wonderful comments. They always make my day! As we are finishing up the autumn term here, I have just finished my teaching for the year, but before you get too optimistic and expect novel-length chapters from now on, my students have submitted more than the combined word count of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings worth of essays that I need to mark before the end of the year. I will treasure your reviews even more as a welcome break from the madness, but if my response times are lagging — that's my excuse!


	18. In a Land Far, Far Away

“Thank you, miss, that was delicious,” Fíli said and smiled, handing his bowl to the young Hobbit. She blushed and curtseyed.

“Wasn’t much, Master Fíli,” she whispered before hurrying away.

“Heartbreaker,” Dwalin muttered and nudged Fíli’s uninjured shoulder.

“None of the lasses could resist such a handsome hero,” one of the older Hobbits added, wistfully drawing on his pipe.

“And in the Shire, for once he’s not the shortest,” Kíli had to add, making everybody laugh. Fíli kicked his leg. It really wasn’t fair that his baby brother was taller than him and showed no sign of stopping his completely un-dwarven growth any time soon.

The room was crowded, even though it was more spacious and luxurious a house than Fíli had ever seen, it was certainly not made for people taller than Hobbits. Dwalin had commandeered an armchair and was stuffed into it like a sausage into its skin. Fíli and Kíli were leaning against the armrests of his chair, leaving the sofa and the dainty wooden chairs to their hosts. Fíli was still not entirely sure which Hobbits actually lived in the sprawling underground house and which were just neighbours and distant relations that had come to visit for Yule and gawk at the outsiders. They all looked much the same to him, so he decided to treat them all as their hosts, which then of course led to all sorts of complications because all of them seemed to regard him and his companions as their saviours and greatest heroes, resulting in endless streams of pleasantries and polite phrases that were immensely frustrating to deal with and made Dwalin grumble more often than not. Fíli silently thanked his mother and uncle for their insistence on a modicum of a good upbringing for him and his brother.

The fare was simple that night, mainly buckwheat that they had brought from the Ered Luin in great sacks, and a thin sliver of meat from the doe the rangers had managed to shoot, not a proper Yule feast at all, but then again they were here on a rescue mission. After two bad harvests, the winter had come early and been exceedingly harsh so far, and in early December a small contingent of rangers had arrived at Thorin’s Halls to ask for assistance for this little land of Halflings they were protecting. Fíli had read its name on Thorin’s maps, but had never taken an interest in the Shire, yet when Thorin was petitioned by the Men to show charity in his capacity as the king of the Longbeards, he had not hesitated to volunteer his support. Hobbits turned out to be docile, amiable beings, simple-minded, but kind and beyond thankful for the food that would help them survive the winter.

“Do the Dwarves celebrate Yule, Master Fíli?” one of the Hobbits asked. Why they had all taken to talking to him was beyond Fíli. Usually people knew to talk to Kíli.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “We call it the Feast of Light.”

There were interested murmurs around the room and fortunately Kili took that as his cue to start talking and Fíli could relax a little, leaning back and gently flexing his injured arm. His brother waxed lyrically about music and dances and their favourite seasonal dishes. Maybe the latter wasn’t quite the right topic among people who had been on the brink of starvation a mere week or two ago.

“But the most important thing is the light,” Fíli said, interrupting his brother’s musings about Yule bread. After all their pudding today had consisted of nothing but apples (which Fíli had politely declined). “Our miners work under ground and in the dark so much that the light is very special to us. At Yule, we celebrate the rebirth of the light, the warmth and safety it provides to labour amidst danger and darkness, when the last shift ends at sundown, the whole town is there to celebrate their safe return to the light.”

They knew nothing of mining and were enthralled by the descriptions of the Yule festivities Kíli was giving them. Dwarves must seem like such an exotic species to these funny little creatures.

“Just the thought of working underneath a mountain all day, with no air and no light, and what have you,” one of them said with a shudder. “It scares the living daylights out of me, sure does.”

The others voiced their agreement. Fíli nodded gravely. “They are brave people, our miners,” he said, hoping to close the matter.

“We treasure the fire as well,” Dwalin said and everybody listened up at the sound of his voice. “Our Fíli here, he’s a great smith, working in the forge and creating all manner of beautiful things.”

That seemed to be the right topic, as certainly hobbits had a sense for beautiful things and they crowded around inquiring about his craft. Fíli answered their questions as best he could, but was relieved when Kíli showed them the dagger he had made for him. They marvelled at the intricate design, the sharpness of the edge and the intriguing pattern of the blade, but Fíli could see them withdraw as Kíli twirled the knife between his fingers. These poor people had never seen a fight in their lives until a few weeks ago and all of them together probably owned as many weapons as one Dwarven warrior. It frightened them, and rightly so.

“There are many toys and decorations that make use of the fire,” he said and that got their attention again. Together the brothers struggled to explain the Yule pyramid or the flame-powered little bimetal seesaw their uncle had built to entertain them as dwarflings. The Hobbits showed little understanding of the mechanics behind either. While his brother still tried to illustrate the marvels with his hands, Fíli suddenly had an idea and started digging through his bag. He usually took this bag to work and the dust always lingered. Fortunately, he never really cleaned his bag, no matter how much his mother reminded him, and was rewarded with a good hand full of metal. Clutching it tightly, he motioned for Dwalin to hand him one of the oil lamps that were dotted around the room. Dwalin looked at him oddly until Fíli mouthed “ _iron filings”_ , and then his face lit up.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed. “Fíli has a little surprise here for you, to demonstrate just how skilled our smiths are with fire.”

Soon Fíli found himself surrounded by excited Hobbits that seemed to anticipate something much more magical from him and that little flame.

“It’s really nothing special,” he tried to lower their expectations.

Kíli put the lamp on a low side table that he cleared completely and turned the light all the way up, seeing as Fíli could only really use his left hand. Then he made sure their audience stayed far enough back. Fíli was kneeling next to the table, still clutching the iron filings. Very gently he sprinkled some into the flame.

Immediately bright sparks flew in every direction eliciting gasps from the Hobbits. When they saw that the flame returned to normal within a few moments, their curiosity was kindled and when Fíli repeated the motion, the sparks were received with applause and laughs. Fíli caught his brother’s eye and Kíli was smiling broadly, obviously enjoying the little display, looking up at Fíli the way he used to when they were still little children. The Hobbits were so easily entertained by this trick, Fíli marvelled at their resilience. Just a short while ago they had been destitute, at the brink of starvation, with Orcs and wolves roaming so close to their homes, and now they took such joy from a simple demonstration of chemistry. They laughed and chattered and asked him to do it again and again until Fíli unfortunately had to declare that he had run out of iron filings. When Kíli made to return the lamp to its place, one of the young rangers who had been sitting in the corner with their long legs stretched towards the fire bade him halt.

“A moment, Kíli,” he said and raised himself to his knees. The Men could not stand up inside the Hobbit hole without hitting their heads. They really were unreasonably tall. There were only two of them here tonight, the young captain and his friend Halphor. It was Halphor who slid over to the table now, one fluid motion despite being on his knees. While all the rangers were tall and dark-haired with stern eyes, Halphor was by far the least intimidating and Kíli in particular had found a friend in him.

“To us too, the light and the fire are worthy of celebrations, and while none of us are great smiths, we have some skill in mastering the flames if needed,” Halphor explained.

He too held a powder in his hand and as he sprinkled it into the flame, it turned a vivid green.

“That’s magic!” Kíli cried amidst the excited cheering of the Hobbits. They all clamoured to get closer, too close for comfort really, and Fíli was relieved when the ranger turned towards the hearth instead, sprinkling a bit of the powder onto the flames that immediately burned green as well.

As Halphor was surrounded by Hobbits, Fíli looked to the other ranger for explanations.

“A salt, we use it to treat cuts and burns,” Arathorn said quietly, then added with a smirk: “My friend dropped some into our campfire one night. Now it earns him favours with the ladies to perform his little trick.”

He and Fíli shared a laugh as they did indeed watch Halphor be surrounded by the Hobbit women who were so much smaller than him as to barely reach his shoulder even while he was kneeling.

The Hobbits declared themselves thoroughly impressed, but regretfully unable to perform any fire magic of their own. Instead they offered to sing them a song. It was a fun little ditty, and they sang it with gusto. It was a simple enough song, repeating the same words over and over again, and soon they all joined in.

_One little candle burning bright_

_Shines through the dark on a winter’s night_

_Candlelight shines like the moon,_

_We could be doing with another one._

Then the counting started and soon it was two, three, four, and five little candles burning bright. It felt very much like the music evenings he knew from his childhood and despite being further away from the Ered Luin than ever before, he felt at home. Kíli volunteered them all to sing one of their Yule songs, and eventually even the rangers joined in, singing a simple, but hauntingly beautiful piece describing the love and peace felt on a silent winter night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that grew a bit out of proportion... oops. This is part of a Fell Winter fic I have planned. It’s promising, but it’s also big and therefore will probably not happen in its entirety until I submit my PhD (insert Pericula cursing a blue streak here). Anyways, please do try this at home (with appropriate precautions), I used to run science workshops for kids and these things were always a big hit. The rangers’ salt is boric acid. The Hobbits’ song is the Scots Caunle-Licht Sang, rendered in plain English here for your reading ease. Arathorn and Halphor (eventually to be the fathers of Aragorn and Halbarad respectively) sing Silent Night, still my favourite Christmas carol of all times.


	19. The Return of the Yule Ghosts

 “I’m sorry I’m late for dinner, amad,” Kíli said and pressed a kiss to Dís’ cheek. “Uncle,” he added, nodding towards Thorin. He went to wash his hands in the water basin in the kitchen before letting himself fall onto the bench next to his brother.

“I went over to Niping’s house,” he explained his tardiness. “You know, the poor chap who had his leg broken when that pony bolted down the mine last week.”

“How is he doing?” Thorin asked, making a mental note to visit the unfortunate miner as soon as he could.

“Driving his wife round the bend he is,” Kíli replied with a chuckle. “Healing as well as can be expected he said, the healers say he’ll be just fine, but he’ll be sitting about the house for a good while yet and I’m not sure _she_ is going to survive that.”

“Did you drop off the firewood?” Fíli asked.

“Aye, took a whole load down there, with the weather the way it’s been they’ll need it. Told Bára I’d be back with more.”

“I’ll go on Friday, you can go again next week,” Fíli suggested.

“Fine by me,” Kíli said around a spoon full of soup. “I’ll need a few days anyways, figured I’d make the kids some little wooden animals, save Bára the trouble of having to find something for their Yule. You think they are old enough for swords yet?”

“Narfi can’t even walk yet,” Dís cautioned.

Her youngest son just shrugged. “Never too early to get them started! Catch them while they’re young!”

Fíli laughed. “Animals will probably do just fine. Maybe a horse and waggon?”

“Oi, I’m no toymaker!”

“You’re the one who keeps saying there’s nothing you can’t make out of wood,” his brother teased. “Not so skilled now, are you?”

“Horse and wagon it is then,” Kíli declared, never one to shy away from a challenge.

When they had all eaten their fill, Fíli stood up.

“Thank you for the meal, amad,” he said while gathering the dirty dishes. “That was lovely.”

“Delicious as always,” Kíli added, giving Dís a one-armed hug while balancing their four cups, one atop the other, in his other hand.

The brothers disappeared into the kitchen and while Thorin could hear them sing and laugh and generally make a nuisance of themselves, he also knew there’d be a clean kitchen and a hot tea for each of them by the end of this.

“Delicious,” Thorin repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Last autumn, we couldn’t even get him near a parsnip.”

“He’s grown up so much,” Dís said. “They both have. The wonders a bit of traveling can do...”

“They are fine lads,” Thorin mused, stuffing his pipe. “Not lads, really, they are young men now. You can be proud of them.”

“I am,” Dís agreed with a smile. “And so are you.”

“I couldn’t wish for better heirs,” Thorin confirmed. “And I think it’s about time they take over one of my more special duties.”

When the brothers had finished the washing up and returned to the table with steaming cups of tea, they found their uncle bent over a large bag full of walnuts and an even larger sack of apples.

“What’s going on?” Fíli asked, his brow creased. “Another rescue mission?”

“Somewhat closer to home this time,” Thorin said. “I think it’s about time you learned the truth about the Yule ghosts.”

“Well, it’s obviously amad,” Kíli declared and they both laughed.

“Wrong,” answered Thorin with a smug grin. “While your mother has many admirable qualities, being a Yule ghost is not among them.”

“Well, you told me once that it wasn’t anybody’s father doing it,” Fíli mused. Then sudden realisation dawned. “Oh! It’s you! It’s been you all along!”

Thorin nodded slightly and smiled. “It was Dwalin’s idea originally,” he explained. “When his duties allow, he tries to be here for it.”

“You are the Yule ghosts!” Kíli shouted and laughed. “No wonder I never figured it out even when I was awake half the night. Seeing Dwalin or you come to the door was never anything suspicious!”

They all laughed at that and Thorin confessed that there had been a few close calls with curious dwarflings over the years.

“Well, with more and more dwarflings in the Ered Luin,” he said eventually. “I figured it was about time we employed some Yule ghosts with younger legs. How would you like to make the rounds this year?”

They agreed enthusiastically and Kíli grinned so broadly the corners of his mouth seemed to be destined to meet his ears. As they all worked together to wrap shortbread and fudge for the children, Thorin told them more stories of his duties as a Yule ghost. He particularly enjoyed telling them about that very first time, when Dwalin had shown him how despite all the difficulties and hardship they faced, he still had the ability to make a difference among his people, to give them some light in the midst of the darkness they found themselves in.

The very next night, two Yule ghosts left the Durin household, each carrying a large sack full of treats upon his shoulder, the shorter of the two also equipped with a list of every child in Thorin’s Halls. Thorin watched them walk down the path towards the centre of town together, whistling as they went.

He was so proud of them.


	20. On Thin Ice

“Of you go now,” Kíli told the little dwarfling after he finished tying the steel blades to her feet. “Gimli is going to show you how this is supposed to work.”

He grabbed her underneath the arms and heaved her off the wooden pier and onto the ice where Gimli’s arms steadied her. It was only a few days till Yule and the lake was frozen solid.

“Why am I on child-minding duty now?” his flame-haired cousin grumped.

“Because you need me to keep my trap shut around your father,” Kíli replied reasonably. “If he were to find out about your little adventure...” He arched an eyebrow and left that sentence hanging in the cold air between them.

Gimli dragged one of his hands away from the child and signed something in response that Glóin also wouldn’t have approved of. Kíli snorted with laughter.

“Keep those dirty fingers to yourself,” he said. “That’s my brother coming down the path and if Thorin actually releases his precious heir before sundown for once, Mahal curse my beard, I want to make sure he makes the most of his free time.”

“Not like there’s much of a beard to curse,” Gimli muttered.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Kíli replied. His cousin sported a rather sizeable beard already despite being a full 15 years younger than him.

Fortunately, Fíli had made it down the path by now and prevented all further discussion of that sensitive subject matter.

“Hullo,” he greeted as he sat down next to Kíli. “What are you up to?”

“Afternoon, Fíli,” Gimli answered. “I’m apparently teaching a beginner’s class,” he added pointedly, nodding towards the wobbling dwarfling clinging to his arms.

Fíli nodded sagely. “He manages to wheedle out of everything. I swear I’ve been mucking out the stables for a month straight now.”

“Just doing you a favour,” Kíli said. “You said you wanted more time to bond with your new pony.”

They bickered good-naturedly while Fíli drove the screws into the heels of his boots and then tied the leather straps around them tightly to keep the blades firmly in place. Gimli had meanwhile been surrounded by a gaggle of dwarflings and was slowly making his way a little further towards the middle of the lake. Kíli jumped off the pier and onto the ice, spinning and turning while Fíli tested the knots he had just made. Satisfied, he soon joined his brother on the smooth surface that shone silver in the sunlight.

“What did Thorin want?” Kíli asked once they were both skating next to each other.

Fíli scrubbed his hand across his face and through his hair before he answered.

“Trade routes. We plan to expand our usual routes come spring. The Greenway has been safe these past few years and with less guards needed for each caravan, we can stretch our resources a bit further.”

“Where do you want to go?” Kíli asked, knowing his brother would have a fully fledged plan before any discussion with Thorin.

“Lond Daer if you ask me,” Fíli replied, gliding across the ice steadily while his brother went this way and that, twisting and turning on one foot, then losing touch with the ground entirely and leaping into the air. “Tharbad itself may lie in ruins, but its inhabitants did not just disappear after the Fell Winter, from what I’ve heard there are settlements of men all along the Greyflood. It’s rich farmland down there and plentiful fishing, so they are likely to be prosperous, but their towns probably too small to support any particularly skilled craftsmen. The Men pay well for our wares.”

“Sounds solid,” Kíli replied, now skating backwards in front of Fíli. “Thorin disagreed?”

“You know how he is,” Fíli said with a shrug, but his strides grew more forceful and Kíli had to hurry to catch up with him. “His mind ever wanders towards the East, not the South. He agreed in the end, though. He knows as well as we do that we need to fill our coffers.”

“Enedwaith in the spring then?”

“Aye, if we keep up production the way we have,” Fíli confirmed. “Dunland if we travel swiftly.”

“Oh, Dunland!” Kíli crowed excitedly and spun around quickly on the tips of his blades, which earned him a smile from Fíli.

“Thought you’d like that.”

“Heard so much about it, but I’ve never actually _been_ there,” Kíli said. “You think they still have those funny fruits with the brightly coloured skin that amad always talks about?”

“Satsumas,” supplied Fíli. “And I think they just might. Maybe we can bring some back for her.”

“Focus on your business. You aren’t gallivanting about for your own personal amusement,” Kíli replied in his best imitation of Thorin, which had both of them laughing.

“Oh he is a miserly old git,” Kíli finally said with a sigh.

“That’s probably treason,” Fíli remarked.

“You could just call it truth.”

“He has many worries and responsibilities,” Fíli said reasonably.

“I know, I know,” Kíli said with a dramatic sigh. “He is a hero shining brighter than mithril — I still think he needs to get laid.”

Fíli chuckled at his brother’s crude suggestion. It was Kíli’s favourite solution whenever he thought somebody needed to loosen up, so pretty much all the time. “You know,” he said, staring far into the distance where dark firs covered the mountainside. He did not feel like it was his place to comment on his uncle’s private life and preferences, but he wanted to get Kíli to drop the matter before he could bring it up around the dinner table. “I don’t think that would help in Thorin’s case. I don’t think he’d take as much pleasure from a partnership as he does from hard work and the certainty that he is doing all he can for our people.”

Kíli brought himself to a sudden stop and looked at his brother critically. Fíli looked back over his shoulder and slowed down as well.

“And you know, or at least I hope you do,” Kíli said eventually. “That it makes you no less of a Dwarf and a leader that you don’t share that trait.”

Fíli did not answer, but stared at the far hills again. Kíli slowly caught up to him and before he could speak again, Fíli took off at a sprint.

“Race you,” he shouted. “Last one back at the pier mucks out the stables.”

It was a close thing for a time. Kíli cursed as he tore after his brother, desperately dragging him back by the tip of his hold, and for a moment they both stumbled and came close to falling, but they soon caught themselves and gathered great speed in their race across the frozen lake. Soon Fíli was out of arm’s reach and chuckling at the curses his brother flung after him. How in Mahal’s name he had breath to spare was anybody’s guess.

They were at the farthest point from the pier and it was a long way back across, which worked to Fíli’s advantage. Kíli might have overtaken him in height years ago, but Fíli was still the stronger of the two. That, and he hadn’t exhausted himself in needless acrobatics on their way out. Most of his strength lay in his arms, hardened by long hours in the forge or training with his swords and axes, but he had powerful legs as well and he used them to his advantage.

Fíli crashed into the wooden pier first, bracing himself with his hands before turning around and jeering at his brother.

“What, did you stop for a pint along the way?” he asked. “Or are you really that slow?”

Kíli barrelled straight into him and sent them both sprawling on the ice.

“You have a big mouth for somebody who’d pass for a Hobbit,” Kíli teased as they both lay there laughing and gasping for air.

“Oi, watch it,” Fíli said and kicked his leg. “Unless you call that a bare foot, I’m certainly no Hobbit!”

“Ouch,” Kíli squealed dramatically. “Watch your blades, you accursed hedgehog. If you amputate my foot with those, you’ll be on stable duty for the rest of your life!”


	21. One Last Yule

“Pass the potatoes, please.”

“Thank you.”

“Some carrots?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“You?”

“No, I’m fine.”

They commenced their meal in silence. It was so quiet that the clatter of the cutlery and the occasional shifting in their chairs seemed to echo around the small room as if it was a great cavern.

“There’s not much snow this year,” Fíli said in an attempt to start a conversation.

“We might still get some; last year the biggest storm came a few weeks after Yule,” Kíli added, also eager to end the eerie silence.

“Hopefully there won’t be one like it this year. The earlier the roads are clear, the better,” Thorin said, keeping his eyes trained on the meat he was cutting. Dís glared at him. She had _told_ him, had made it _very_ clear for all of them that they were not to mention that accursed plan over Yule. She wanted one day, just _one day_ of peace, of not discussing that hair-brained idea, of not hearing anything about Thorin’s suicide mission.

They continued to eat in silence. The silence grated on Dís’ ears. She often ate alone, when they were all traveling or working or out to eat with friends. She didn’t mind the silence then, actually quite enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet every now and again. Somehow this was different.

“The venison is excellent,” Fíli said. “Thank you, amad, you outdid yourself.”

“It’s great,” Thorin confirmed.

“And I shot it,” Kíli added, using his knife to gesture towards himself. “And a mighty fine shot it was, could have easily gotten away that doe. But I’m good like that. Very handy with a bow and arrow, very handy to have around if you want to eat well on the road, yep.”

He looked at his uncle, but Thorin, who had found something very interesting to investigate somewhere between the carrots and the potatoes, only gave him a non-committal grunt. She had pleaded with him, had begged him to not take her youngest, to not take her baby anywhere close to that ill-fated mountain. That mountain had shattered her family the first time around. Not again.

That mountain. It was worming its way into her mind even when they didn’t mention it, it was driving deep mineshafts into her conscience, delving deeper and deeper, making her feel hollow. That mountain had destroyed her family once, then the war had done it again, and then the mine. What now? The mountain again, then another war, and then another mine until she had nobody left to be taken from her? Thorin wanted to go back, but what was going back to her if not asking for a repeat of all that pain and suffering?

The room felt too small, the walls were moving in to crush her. She got up suddenly, and walked straight out of the kitchen door.

“I’ll get some firewood,” she said. They had lived in this cramped little house for so long, _getting some firewood_ had become their code for _needing some space_. All four of them had a temper, some more than others, and sooner or later, one would disappear for some firewood when there wasn’t enough space for all of their egos in one small cottage.

She did not even bother with boots, but walked straight across to the little outbuilding in her socks. She didn’t care. She picked up the axe, but didn’t chop any wood; she just held it, feeling the weight in her hands, letting it ground her a little in this whirlwind of memories. This was not the Yule she had wanted. She had wanted a good Yule, a happy Yule, because they were happy here, they had a good life, maybe not a rich one, but a prosperous one, one that gave them shelter and food, and cheer and song on occasion. That in itself held great value, greater perhaps than all the gold in Erebor.

She heard the kitchen door and then approaching footsteps. Fíli. It was always Fíli.

“Amad, may I come in?” he called softly. She knew he had once spent an hour waiting in the snow when Kíli wouldn’t let him in, so she opened the door.

He smiled at her, that dazzling smile that was so like his father’s, making those moustache braids dance. The light from the house made his blond hair shine like gold.

“Oh amad,” he said, suddenly serious, and to her surprise she found that she was crying, tears running down her face in rivulets. He crossed the space between them immediately and pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. She just cried even harder, great, ugly sobs that seemed to be wrenched from the very rock of her soul. They stood like this for a while, but somehow she found herself unable to stop. She just stood there, her head resting on his shoulder, feeling safe in his embrace, knowing that he was still here, that she had not lost him.

He began to sing, very softly, slowly swaying in time with the tune. It had always been one of her favourite Yule songs, but that day the last verse seemed to be particularly apt for the situation they found themselves in.

_Oh fair white sun of shining face;_

_Whose ray the darkness does efface;_

_From sadness saves the Dwarven race;_

_Sheds life and light in ev’ry place._

She quietened somewhat and joined him for the final chorus, voice muffled by the fabric of his tunic.

_May Mahal guide you;_

_May Mahal guide you;_

_May Mahal guide you;_

_Let Him be your light._

It was not just a song, it was her fervent prayer that night and every night that followed. _May Mahal guide them. May He be their light._

“Oh amad,” he said when they had finished. “I made a promise once, that you would never have to cry like that again. I made that promise the day we buried adad and I’m so sorry I have broken my word like that.”

“Do you have to go?” she asked when she trusted her voice again.

“No,” he answered. “You have raised us better than that. We do not act out of blind obedience; we do things because they make sense to us and we want to do them.”

“But why? What sense is there in that accursed mountain?”

He still held her tight, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back.

“Erebor is a hope and a promise,” he said slowly. “A promise to our people that we never give up, that we will never be content before the last of them is happy and healthy, and as successful as he possibly could be. We will soon reach our limit here in the Ered Luin. Thorin’s Halls prospers, but it cannot continue to grow for much longer, not with the resources available to us. I would give our people that promise that I will keep striving for their good.”

“Why is everything about the people? Why isn’t anything about yourself?” she asked before she could stop herself. Even to her own ears she sounded like a petulant child, but Fíli did not seem to mind.

“This is not about me,” he replied. “But it is about Thorin. That flame, that little flame inside of him that has been our light and shelter for so long, that flame is guttering, and it will go out if he doesn’t go on this quest, and he will die and fade away, and our line, the line of Durin, will never again claim this kingdom. Let us keep this flame from going out. Allow us to give him that small hope, amad. He has done much for us and I would dearly like to give him that in return.”

She held him at arm’s length then, her hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes, his Durin blue eyes, so much like Thorin’s and her own. And she looked at his hair, shimmering golden around his head, and she looked at the slight smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth even after that impassioned speech, and then she sighed.

“Why did you have to grow into such a fine young Dwarf?” she asked, brushing her hands over his braids.

He smiled in earnest then, a smile so much like his father’s.

“Because I learned from the best,” he whispered, holding her close once more.


	22. A Light in the Darkness

Dwalin just kept on walking. He wasn’t walking anywhere, he had nowhere to go. He was just walking away, away from the voices and the business, away from the Yule celebrations, away from the parts of the mountain the living had claimed for themselves. He felt out of place there, like he did not belong. He had always gone where Thorin had needed him to go, whether that was following Thorin or off on missions of his own. Now he had nowhere to go. There was no aim to his wanderings, no purpose. He was nowhere; he was going nowhere; he was nobody.

He had turned his back, had walked away from them like a coward. He had been many things in his life, but never that, never a coward. To desert a friend, a fellow soldier, that was the worst betrayal. He would have rather died than to walk away from anybody, would have died to not become a deserter. Now that did not matter — he was dead already.

No! He had no right to claim that. He had not even managed that, not even a death in battle, not even when they had fallen all around him. He had no right to claim that he was dead. He could not go down to the crypts; he did not belong there either. He did not belong with the dead, even when he could not bear the company of the living. He belonged in the shadow, somewhere in the deep darkness of the mines, in the endless corridors that had no aim or purpose either, or at least no purpose that would have survived warfare and dragon fire. No aim, no purpose lasted through that.

He was lost, lost somewhere in the warren of damaged tunnels and dragon-soiled caverns they called Erebor. He was lost and he did not want to be found, except for maybe by death himself. Maybe some nightmarish creature from some long-forgotten tale would rise from the deep and claim him, or maybe it would be thirst and starvation slowly creeping up on him on silent feet. It made no difference to him, as long as death found him sooner rather than later.

Death had found them so soon.

They were just boys and Dwalin was playing with them, building snow dwarves and hiding treats in their boots.

They were just boys and Dwalin was doing them one last service, carrying them back from the battlefield and putting them to rest in their tombs.

Death had found them so soon. Death had taken his shining boys and passed him by, had declined the life he would have given so willingly.

He should not have such thoughts, should not doubt Mahal for letting him live when he would have gladly divided the remainder of his years between them. He should be thankful. He should be with the others, celebrating Yule and commemorating those who had not been so lucky. He should. But duty had no meaning any more; his duty had been to Thorin, to Thorin, to Thráin and Frerin before him, and to Fíli and Kíli as well. And to Dís.

His knees buckled as he thought of her, a sudden sweat upon his brow, the ground tilting beneath him like a bucking pony. His duty to Dís. He had to grab the wall for support, feeling the rough rock dig into his hands, steadying himself, at least externally. It did not last, nothing lasted any more, and he sat down hard on the floor, leaning against the wall, evening out his breathing. It happened naturally and much too quickly for his taste, decades of fighting lending him an ability to focus and to calm himself that he did not cherish now. It was easy, way too easy to appear calm and collected, even as the fires were raging inside of him. He was a warrior. He did not cry, nor did he feel fear or pain, or anything at all. He was a warrior. His deadly calm was his armour, his most powerful weapon, but every time he struck a foe with it, the hit also went inside, wounding him more deeply than anything else ever could. He did not want to be calm and collected. He wanted to rage, he wanted to cry, he wanted to denounce Mahal at the top of his lungs, he wanted to tear down the stones of their tombs. He wanted... he wanted, but he was so empty, completely hollow inside. He was like Erebor, dark and empty inside, devoid of all life and light.

Dís. He had no right, no right at all, not when her life and her light had been extinguished so gruesomely. His pain was nothing compared to hers. Nothing. And yet she did not even know. She knew nothing of her own pain, was probably celebrating Yule with friends and neighbours, not knowing that it would be her last, that every Yule after would be tinged with regret, that this was her last Yule still thinking herself a sister and a mother. She did not know, and he had no right, no right at all to put his own grief above hers.

It was a long ride, many weeks to the Ered Luin. He had wanted to go straight away, but his brother had convinced him to wait out the worst of the winter. He had given in too easily, had prioritised his own comfort over his duty to Dís. He had failed her like he had failed her father, her brothers and her sons before. He had no right, no right to die while she yet lived.

His duty forbade him to die.

And so he found his feet again and kept on walking, not with any particular aim, but with a singular purpose.

He did not die.

He kept walking until quiet feet fell into step beside him and it wasn’t death walking with him, it was a living soul, a breathing body, a friend.

A friend who did not speak, but who walked with him, who accompanied him back to the others.

A friend who sat beside him and made sure he ate, who made sure he did not die for a little while longer even when the very stone of his soul was crying out for death.

A friend who held a light, a small light in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! This has turned into such a great experience, a bit of a new advent ritual for me, and I love hearing from you every day. This chapter has been a bit of a departure from the usual. I'm not normally one for soliloquies, certainly not 1000 word ones, and I agonised over the way this had turned out for a while, but in the end decided not to change it, to just give you Dwalin's incredibly raw grief. Please keep reading. I promise to end on a high note, to not let you go into Christmas with a huge mountain of angst and grief!


	23. Candlelight and Memories

It was a beautiful ceremony. The miners wore their shining new parade uniforms; buttons gleaming and boots polished so much they could have served as mirrors. A whole orchestra of musicians had assembled and a strong choir of voices rose to sing their praise of the light, commanding their successes to Mahal and praying for his guidance. They stood around the mouth of the mine in great circles, all the Dwarves of Erebor assembled and turned out in their finest clothes for the occasion. Excitement lay in the air and all around there were smiling faces. It was a beautiful ceremony.

Dáin gave a great speech. It was rousing and resulted in a whole chorus of cheers. He was a true man of the people, the fierce love he had for them was clear in his eyes and was returned in kind from all those who had come together here. The whole of Erebor had come, safe for a small guard, and he made it worth their while, delivering his speech in so passionate a manner that they were hanging on his every word. He raised his cup to toast their many achievements in this first year of mining and industry since the reclamation and downed his drink in concert with everyone else. Dáin gave a great speech.

They were a magnificent people. As they filed out towards the great dining hall for the feast, following the musicians who led them in a merry march, there was excited chatter and many laughs could be heard. They were cheerful on this feast day, but never shied away from the hard work that was required to make the mountain inhabitable again after decades of abuse at the claws of the dragon. They were rich and poor, a hodgepodge of those from the Iron Hills, the Ered Luin, and a selection of other Dwarven settlements, some come to make their fortune, others for nostalgia, and others still to assure or reclaim a position, but all were united in their singular desire to return the Lonely Mountain to her former glory and worked tirelessly towards it. They were a magnificent people.

She was like a beloved older aunt to them. They showed her the greatest of respect, the dwarrowdams curtseyed when their eyes met, and the dwarves gave her a small bow. All of them were smiling and she knew she was more than welcome at any table she wanted to grace with her presence. She knew she was free to go where she pleased since she had officially denounced her titles and Dáin was very glad to allow her freedom to roam and sit with whomever she pleased. But she also knew that she did not want to join any table for the Yule feast. They accepted it when she fell back in the crowd and finally stood some ways away from the entrance to the hall, watching the last stragglers pass her by. There was a glimmer of sadness in many eyes, but they still smiled at her. She was like a beloved older aunt to them.

“They are making a right ruckus,” Dwalin observed as the noise level within the dining hall rose to deafening.

When she did not answer, he just fell into step beside her as she walked slowly along the broad corridor. He never assured her with empty promises and half-hearted phrases. She was thankful for it. He was right, they were loud. They were loud because they were many, an ever-growing town within Erebor, bustling and full of activity, a new store, a new workshop springing up each week, the first children being born and even more making the caverns echo with their laughter. And still she was alone in the midst of the crowd, because despite all of the good people who populated the halls, they were not the people she longed for. Erebor had truly become the Lonely Mountain to her.

They reached a large stairwell and Dís hesitated. These stairs wound their way downwards into the deep bowels of the mountain, down all the way to the crypts where no light ever shone. There waited those she longed to celebrate Yule with, untouched by light, unable to enjoy the food and cheer and song, nor the hoarded gold of Erebor, unable to partake in the merriment that took place above their heads. She knew what awaited her down there, she went to visit more days then not and she knew how her Yule would end if she took those stairs now. She hesitated.

Dwalin put a soft hand on her elbow.

“Allow me,” he said with a hesitant smile. She looked at him and knew there were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. She gave a slight nod and he took her arm exceedingly gently. His fingers covered her hand and gave it tender squeeze.

He steered her towards the stairs, but did not lead her down, but up, up, story after carefully carved story. With everyone at the feast, the great entrance hall lay deserted except for the guards that were at their post near the gate. Dwalin gave them a curt nod and they did not stir, intent only on their duty. They slowly walked across the polished marble floor that mirrored the many torches and fires towards the back wall where the great Yule pyramid stood, carefully restored to its former glory after it had been found with little damage as it had been of no interest to the dragon who preferred gold over wood.

Dís craned his neck and looked up, up, up to where she knew the ceiling of the great entrance hall was, so many stories above. She couldn’t see it, could only make out the flickering flames of the large oil lamps and up there, beyond circle upon circle of lamps, there were the great blades of the rotor, slowly turning and making the figures below them hurry along on their endless journey. Each one of the wooden figures wore different clothes and carried different tools according to their position. There were pickaxes, shovels and hammers. One of the figures was even leading a skewbald pit pony. She looked up to the second round platform that was slightly smaller than the first and turning a little above their heads. More figurines were marching around in circles, but they were tradespeople, stonemasons and carpenters, weavers and seamstresses, and even a toymaker.

“Where are they hurrying to?” Dís mused. _We only ever hurry to our death,_ she thought, but did not say. Dwalin’s fingers on her hand tightened, but he kept his eyes trained upon the pyramid.

“Everyone is hurrying towards a better Erebor,” Dwalin said. _An Erebor that was worth at least a small part of the price we paid for it,_ was strongly implied.

“It’s beautiful,” she said and sighed.

“It’s a light when the days are at their darkest,” Dwalin said. And we can all use a reminder of the warmth and the light.”

“Thorin loved it as a child,” she said. “He talked about it often, one of the greatest feats of artistry in Erebor, and one that was devoid of gold and gems.”

“Frerin loved it even more,” Dwalin added. “He told me once that Thorin had to keep him from diving head first into the lights.”

Dís smiled. “So much like Kíli.”

“He was,” Dwalin confirmed. “Same silly smile, and always getting out of their work.”

“It was Fíli who caught his braids on fire once,” Dís said. “He leaned over too far, wanted to see the little miners even better... he was very young then.”

Dwalin gave a low chuckle. “That pyramid was a work of beauty.”

Dís closed her eyes. It had been small, lovingly carved out of scraps of wood, powered by delicate candles, easily placed upon their table, the figurines no longer than a finger. She would take that small pyramid over the great one in front of her any day.

Dwalin could feel her drifting off into the darkness and tightened his grip once more.

“Do you remember the Yule after we returned from the War?” he asked, his voice very low.

She nodded, a large lump in her throat. That Yule...

“I admired you so much that Yule,” Dwalin continued. “There you were, no older than I was, but such a leader to the community we had left behind. I caught your eye the day we returned, caught your eye over the heads of the crowd and I saw then that you knew, but I also saw that you would not let the loss of your brother make you abandon your people. You were so brave even when the warriors’ strength faltered.”

“I had not seen what you had,” she answered. “I had not done what you had had to do.”

His fingers tightened on hers and she stroked them gently with her thumb.

“You gave us something to return to. So many nights when we... when we sat in some dark cavern, it was your image, the thought of you and the world you cared for and kept safe for us... that’s what kept us going. You held us together that Yule even when our whole world had crumbled.”

She thought back to that Yule, the first without Frerin, the first without Fundin, the first without so many others who had been burned at Azanulbizar. But she had still held some hope in her heart back then.

“I’m not that girl any more,” she said eventually.

“You do not need to be,” he said softly and turned to face her. “You have done so much, you have... given so much. Rest. Let others be the light in your life that you have been in theirs.”


	24. The Feast of Light

“Fíli and Kíli, stop it!” Frerin shouted and jumped up from the table, almost knocking over the inkwell. The malicious duo ran across the room, tossing the scroll of parchment from one to the other as they went, depending on who the older Dwarf was closing in on.

“Your luscious beard as black as coal and your eyes the colour and clarity of the brightest emeralds...” Fíli read out.

“That is private, you pest!” Frerin roared, turning on the spot to attack him and to snatch the letter from his hand, but it had been thrown back over his head and Kili continued to read.

“I miss you with a fire as fierce as a blast furnace...” He broke off in a rather undignified squeal completely unworthy of a Prince of Erebor, as Frerin missed him by the breadth of a hair, and made a run for it, leading a merry chase down the corridors, still clutching the scroll the elder so desperately wanted.

Thorin chuckled at the younger Dwarves antics and Dwalin joined in. Those three were always up to some sort of mischief! Troublesome, but much beloved, that’s what they were. He would not have changed them for the world.

“Ah, to be young and in love again...” Thorin mused.

“That much for keeping the Yule peace,” Dwalin said and they both laughed.

“Not in this household,” Thorin said good-naturedly. “There might be peace in all of Middle Earth now that the darkness has been defeated, but the day there isn’t a fight between my sons, that’ll be the day I know they are plotting to overthrow me!”

“They never would,” Dwalin said with certainty. “They are good boys, all of them.”

“I know,” Thorin confirmed. “But even if they wanted to, as long as I have you to guard me, I have no fear, least of all of those three scions of chaos!”

Dwalin’s mood darkened immediately.

“I have lost four kings in my time,” he ground out between clenched teeth. Thorin put a hand on the armrest of his friend’s chair.

“Through no fault of your own have you watched them fall,” Thorin said. “You have served my father well, and my cousin before him, and you have only ever been the most trustworthy of warriors, of friends to me. You have lost four, but you have seen as many take up the mantle of leadership, and all of us would have been much worse rulers if it hadn’t been for your loyalty and dedication.”

Dwalin gave a small nod and continued to stuff his pipe. Thorin did the same. Together they sat in silence, staring into the fireplace, watching the dance of the flames that drove away the chill of midwinter.

The door burst open and a young dwarrowdam strode in, her thick auburn braid bouncing on her shoulders. She threw herself into one of the unoccupied armchairs.

“My brother is an idiot,” she declared to the room at large.

“Which one?” Dwalin asked as Thorin tried to hide a laugh behind his teacup.

“Each one of them,” the girl said with an exasperated sigh. “But Frerin in particular. He actually thinks he can woo **Ǫlrún with his inane love letters.” She turned her voice into a pathetic whimper. “Oh dearest beloved, your hair gleams like freshly polished boots...”**

**“He’s certainly inherited your father’s skill with words,” Dwalin said. He grinned when he saw Thorin flinch and stare at him as if he wanted to strangle him. It was probably treason to unveil those memories of helping a young prince draft his own letters, but Dwalin was many decades beyond caring about such petty things as treason.**

**“He most definitely has,” Thorin’s wife spoke up from where she sat, seemingly engrossed in a book. “Your darling father once compared my nose to the snout of his favourite battle pig when we were courting. Took him a week to even realise what I was upset about.”**

The Yule celebrations were splendid as ever, with Erebor returned to its full glory, Thorin spared no expense to make it a formidable day for each of her citizens, as well as their friends from Dale and beyond. Foods, both familiar and exotic were being served on laden tables, and the wine and ale flowed freely. Dwalin leaned back in his chair, his appetite for both now diminished with age and looked about the dining hall, listening to songs, watching the general merriment, and enjoying every moment of it. Much later, they retreated to the royal chambers, the king and queen, their four children, and Dwalin, who was by now little use as a guard, but still a beloved honorary uncle, and advisor, and oft-times confidante to the younger ones.

“What is it about apples and Yule?” Kíli asked, plopping down in front of the fire and taking a bite out of a shiny red apple with an appetite only a growing boy could muster. “We eat them all year round and suddenly at Yule they become this big special thing.”

“It’s something to do with apples being a sign of life,” Frerin said, tossing another apple to Fíli who ate it with gusto, one of the many small things that distinguished him from his namesake. “You know the whole light in the darkness thing... life returns even in winter... something like that...”

“They also remind us that we too regrew from very humble seeds,” Dwalin said, stroking Dís’ hair. The young girl had sat down by his feet, leaning against his legs, and was sucking on a piece of chocolate, that exotic new treat from the far south he wished her namesake had had a chance to discover.

“When we first settled in the Ered Luin, we were so poor, an apple was a kingly gift to any child,” he continued. With every year of life that Mahal granted him, he became more aware of his role as the memory of his people, or at least the part of the memory concerned with things deemed to be too ordinary and mundane for the official chronicles. He had been destined for an early grave, a sudden death on the battlefield or a slower one from agonising infection and disease. He had come close so many times that he took his continued survival as a sign, a call to duty from his Maker.

“There were years when an apple was the only treat afforded to our children, when most meals consisted of gruel, or maybe some buckwheat if we were lucky,” Dwalin continued his tale as the children crowded around him. At the mention of gruel, the twins reached for more chocolate.

“Thorin, your cousin Thorin that is, and I, we used to play Yule ghosts and hide apples in the dwarflings’ boots. There was always great delight among them, even later when we passed that task on to Fíli and Kíli.”

“Did they have fun playing the Yule ghosts?” Kíli asked, as always excited by the mention of his older cousins.

“Oh yes, they did,” Dwalin confirmed. “Although Kíli almost got caught once and had to think on his feet to come up with an excuse for why he was digging around a family’s boot cupboard.”

They laughed at that and suggested all sorts of outlandish stories Kíli might have told. Dwalin looked at them fondly. They were good children, happy, and safe in the knowledge that they were loved and no harm would come to them.

“The greatest Yule surprise I ever got was an apple,” he said.

“Oh but what about that great battle axe grandfather gave you?” Frerin asked.

“And don’t forget the armchair,” Dís added. “You love your armchair.”

Dwalin smiled. “All great surprises,” he said. “But none greater than that apple.”

“What was so special about the apple?” Kíli asked, regarding the one in his hand critically as if it was about to reveal some special power.

“It was given to me by your cousin Frerin,” Dwalin said. “We were all very young back then, just a little older than you are now, and we were in the war, the first War against the Orcs.” He stopped to let Dís settle onto his lap, putting an arm around her. “It was a very hard time, we had little to eat and even less to laugh about. When Yule came, there was nothing special about it, it was just another day of fighting in the dark.” They voiced their malcontent at that. “That night we sat together, Thorin, Frerin, Balin and me, and I was very sad that night.” Sad about things he had done and seen that no grown Dwarf should have to suffer. He had been younger than Frerin was now. “Then suddenly Frerin got these four apples from his back, small and a little dented, but still the most beautiful apples I had ever seen.”

They all had apples in their hands now.

“You must have been really happy to have something sweet,” Fíli said. “Sweet things always make me happy.”

“I was,” Dwalin confirmed. “But do you know what really made me happy?”

They looked at him with big, questioning eyes.

“It was that somebody had thought me worth the trouble of getting me that surprise. That reminded me that I still had friends, that I was more than just another expendable soldier in that big war I did not comprehend. That little apple made me feel like I was alive again,” Dwalin told them. “Every apple at Yule is a reminder that we are loved.”

He had always loved fiercely, and had been loved by so many in his time. They would never be truly dead for as long as they lived on in his mind, and as he was spreading tales of their lives, they would survive for even longer in the minds of the next generation. Thorin had indeed consulted Dwalin before naming each of his children, and he had been glad to give his approval, delighted by the chance at a peaceful and prosperous life these children had. They might well be the first generation of their kind to be spared a war.

Every year they celebrated Yule, and every year, no matter how desperate the circumstances, it brought them joy. Every year the light returned, and this year it shone all the brighter for the promises it held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter concludes this little series, as we celebrate Christmas on the 24th in my culture and an advent calendar with 25 little surprises just feels decidedly wrong to me. I hope these stories brought you some joy this December, as they are my present to my old faithfuls and new readers alike. 
> 
> Wishing you all wonderful holidays! May they be full of light and magic and apples; may you have some dear people around you; may the memories be kind to you; and most of all, may you have the peace to enjoy the time no matter how imperfect the circumstances. Merry Christmas everyone!


End file.
